


Family

by biblionerd07



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bass loses his parents in a car accident and is now the guardian of his two sisters.  He doesn't know how this is going to work, but Miles is there to help him every step of the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I'm starting another fic when I have SO many other things I need to do, but here we are. This started as a fluffy little pre-canon one-shot about Bass and Miles babysitting that turned into this overnight. (Literally, I had a dream about it.) I changed the timeline; if my math is right (which it may not be because I'm in the same boat as Miles), canon has the car accident when Bass is 28, Angela is 19, and Cynthia is 15. I've moved it back 4 years, so we're at 6 years before the Blackout, though this is a no-Blackout AU. The beginning is platonic Miloe, but it will eventually be more.

“Monroe!” The CO’s voice cut over the howling wind of the storm outside their bunker. Bass made a face at Miles. What could he have possibly done wrong? They’d been stuck inside for almost two days now.

“Sir?”

“Come on over here. I need to talk to you about something.” Wilson’s voice was subdued and Bass felt his heart speed up. He glanced at Miles again. “Without Matheson.” Wilson added.

“Sir,” Bass started. “If this is about the latrine, I swear it wasn’t me—I was over—”

“It’s not the latrine, Monroe.” Wilson bit his lip and Bass felt genuine fear creep in. “Have a seat.”

“Sir, what’s…what’s going on?” Bass sat down warily. Wilson sighed.

“I’m sorry, son,” He said. “It’s your parents. They were hit by a drunk driver. Head on collision.”

“Wha…are they okay?” Bass asked stupidly. The obvious answer was _no_ , but he couldn’t think.

“They’re dead, Monroe. I’m so sorry.”

It felt like the wind was blowing through his brain. He couldn’t understand what Wilson was telling him. His parents couldn’t be dead. They were his parents. They were only in their 50s. His sisters were fifteen and eleven. Their parents couldn’t die when they were so young. That wasn’t how the world worked. They were good people who worked hard and loved each other. They couldn’t be dead.

“You’ll be granted leave.” Wilson said. His voice sounded far away.

“I…” Bass couldn’t catch a full breath. He was trying to ask a question but his lips felt frozen despite the oppressive heat in their bunker.

“If you’re lucky, you can use your leave to finish out your enlistment.” Wilson was still talking, oblivious to Bass’s inability to put together words. “I know you were thinking of reenlisting, son, but think seriously about whether that’s what’s best for you right now.”

“My sisters.” Bass finally gasped out, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. “I—what’s happening with my sisters? They’re just, they’re kids, they can’t…”

He felt a hand on his back and Miles had appeared out of nowhere. “Bass, take a breath.” Miles was murmuring in his ear. “Come on, bud, breathe.”

Normally Wilson would’ve bitched about Miles coming over without being told to and said they were not Siamese twins so they didn’t get special privileges of being together, but he just nodded sadly. It wasn’t a surprise that Miles had been watching closely and noticed when Bass needed him.

“His parents are dead.” Wilson told Miles softly. Miles jerked upright.

“What?” He asked. Wilson didn’t seem to realize it was a bombshell to Miles, too. Miles had spent countless afternoons helping Gail make cookies and playing baseball with William. He’d lost his own parents, to death and distance, years ago, but when he was on leave he went home to the Monroes.

“Drunk driver.”

Miles sank to his knees beside Bass’s chair. Bass grabbed his shoulder, his hand fisting in the rough fabric, trying to anchor them both. “No.” Miles said. “No, that’s—shit.”

“Matheson, you need to pull it together for Monroe.” Wilson commanded. Bass felt like he was drowning, but hearing someone tell Miles to ignore his own grief cut through his haze.

“Miles.” He choked out. It was the only thing he could say and it acted as both a plea for and a gift of comfort to Miles. Bass was crying unashamedly. Usually if he needed to cry out here, he waited until the middle of the night, like everyone else, or he went off as far away as he could. Miles would follow him if he thought Bass needed him, but crying in front of Miles didn’t count as crying in front of anyone. But this—Bass didn’t care if the other guys saw him. None of them would fault him for it.

“How can this…” Miles took a deep breath. Bass didn’t want him to shut his emotions down, but it was one of the things Miles was best at, and Wilson had made him feel like he had to. He’d decided he couldn’t cry because Bass needed him to be strong. He came up off his knees but stayed at Bass’s eye level, in a crouch, and pulled Bass to him, holding him tight.

Bass wasn’t sure how he did it, but he managed not to wail. It was all he wanted to do. Instead, he buried his face in Miles’s shoulder to muffle his sobs. There was no way they weren’t attracting attention from the whole unit now.

“You’re out at first light tomorrow.” Wilson said. Miles and Bass both nodded and stood up, and Wilson looked at them pityingly. “Just Monroe.” He added. “Matheson’s staying here.”

“Oh.” Miles breathed.

“No, Miles needs leave, too.” Bass argued, voice shaky from sobbing. “They’re his family, too.”

“They’re not, Monroe.” Wilson said gently. “Not as far as the United States is concerned. They’re not his family, so he stays.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

“It’s not my call.” Wilson cut him off.

“Well, whose call is it?” Bass was pissed off now, glad to have something to latch onto. He wanted someone to hate and whoever was stopping Miles from going home was his target. “Who do I talk to? I’ll call the damn president if I have to.” Bass’s hands were waving around wildly and he was yelling. Miles put his hand on Bass’s arm.

“Bass, stop. There’s nothing we can do.” He was practically whispering, his words for Bass’s ears only. The rest of their unit was watching intently. They didn’t know the situation, but they could tell it was something big.

“No, Miles. You’re not just some guy. You need time off, too, to process and shit. Whatever they say about emotions. If they’re giving me time off they need to give you time, too.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna happen, Bass.” Miles had already accepted it and buried the hurt and anger. Miles was used to things not working out. Bass sagged a little.

“I don’t think I can do this without you.” He admitted softly, throat tight. Miles pulled him in for another hug. He was holding Bass firmly, but Bass could feel little tremors going through Miles.

“This tour’s up in three weeks, Bass. I’ll get leave. I’ll come home. I’ll be there. Okay? Three weeks. You can do it. For the girls.”

He led Bass back to their bunks and helped him pack. Bass kept falling from productive mode to sitting and staring at the ground, but Miles would pull him back with a hand on the back of his neck. Bass felt claustrophobic, but Miles wouldn’t let him go outside. The sandstorm would cut his skin.

“Monroe finally being sent home for violating Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?” Their unit’s most hated member, Carlson, cracked as Miles helped Bass take off his boots because his hands were shaking too badly to work the laces. Miles stood slowly.

“What’d you just say?” His voice was dangerous. Carlson made a lot of jokes about Miles and Bass being lovers, and especially about Bass being gay, and they usually just ignored him. Normally this was where Bass would intervene and tell Miles to let it go, change the subject and tease Miles into a better mood, but Bass felt hot anger filling his insides. His parents were _dead_ and Carlson was talking to him like this?

“Ah, come on, it’s just a joke.” Carlson said, rolling his eyes and turning his back on them. Bass didn’t even give a warning before leaping up and jumping on Carlson. He pulled the other man to the ground and hit him more times than he could keep track of before Wilson came over and pulled him off. Miles had stood by without intervening, which would normally have been a pretty serious offense. Instead, Wilson laid into Carlson.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screamed at Carlson. “He lost his goddamn parents and has to go home for their funeral. We are a _unit_. We are brothers out here. You don’t fucking taunt him at a time like this.”

Carlson stood straight, holding his bleeding nose, and didn’t say a word while Wilson went on berating him, but once Wilson had finished and assigned Carlson latrine duty for three weeks, Carlson turned to look at Bass.

“I’m sorry, Monroe.” He said without meeting Bass’s eyes. Bass didn’t give any response. His anger had dissipated and left him empty and exhausted. He fell onto his bunk and covered his face with his hands and everyone left him alone for the rest of the night. Except Miles, of course, who wouldn’t let him get away with not eating dinner, even when Bass yelled and swore at him. Miles wouldn’t let him stop taking care of himself.

Bass stepped off the plane, completely dazed, and made his way to the baggage claim on auto-pilot. This was not like his homecomings in the past, with banners and excitement and smiles. There was no one here to meet him. He took a cab from the airport to his house and let himself in. The house was silent. His sisters weren’t here. They didn’t have any relatives, so his sweet baby sisters had been sent to a foster family until he could get back. He could feel grime and sweat all over his body—he hadn’t showered in a few days, and he still had a layer of the desert on him—but he couldn’t do anything until he got his sisters back.

He called the social worker, who talked him into finalizing the arrangements for his parents’ bodies before he picked up his sisters. He grudgingly admitted it wasn’t the worst idea in the world. He called the first funeral home in the phone book and cried a little while he talked to a mortician. Then he had to call the city morgue and tell them where to release the bodies, crying a little more. He was drained and exhausted and emotional, but he kept seeing his sisters’ faces and thought of all the horror stories he’d heard about foster homes. Most of these horror stories were from TV and movies, because Bass didn’t think he actually knew anyone who’d been in foster care. But still. His sisters had become orphans in an instant—they needed their big brother.

“Bassy!” Cynthia saw him first when he pulled up in his mom’s sedan—it had been tough to get in the car, but he didn’t have any other choice—and ran for him before he even got the door open. Angela was hot on her heels. He caught them both and squeezed them as tight as he could, breathing in their scent. His eyes were full of tears but he wouldn’t let them fall. If the girls saw him crying, they’d fall apart.

He had to sign some paperwork for the social worker, and he went in the house to help the girls gather their things. It was a small house, but it was clean, and the couple who lived there had kind eyes and easy smiles, so Bass felt better about his sisters being there for three days.

“Thank you for taking care of my sisters.” He told the woman.

“They’re sweet girls.” She responded. “I’m so sorry for what happened.” Bass’s throat tightened and he took a shuddering breath. He could only nod at her, avoiding the sadness and pity in her eyes. He cleared his throat.

“Ready, girls?” He asked, slinging Cynthia’s Hello Kitty backpack onto his shoulder. She came over and took his hand and Angela led the way to the car. They had barely gotten the doors shut when Angela laid her head against the window and started crying. Bass couldn’t take it, and his own tears started spilling down his cheeks as he reached over and put his hand on her shoulder. They made it home before Cynthia noticed them both crying and started wailing herself. Bass carried her into the house as she sobbed, and once they got in the door, he grabbed Angela, too. They huddled together in the entryway of their once-happy home and cried, parentless children.


	2. Chapter 2

Days passed in a blur of grief and uncertainty. The funeral was awful, and Bass longed for Miles the whole time. Miles wouldn’t have been much help at thanking people for coming, or interacting with people at all, really, but his presence would’ve gone a long way in keeping Bass okay. Instead he had to hold himself together all on his own, reminding himself that his sisters needed to know he was still their invincible big brother.

The three of them had been sleeping in their parents’ king-size bed, cuddled together, usually crying themselves to sleep. It was partially because they missed their parents, partially because they needed the comfort from each other, and partially because Bass’s room was downstairs and their parents’ and the girls’ rooms were upstairs and Bass was worried about even the distance of the stairs separating them. But the girls were going to have to go back to school soon, and a Google search of some tips on dealing with grief for children had led Bass to the decision that they needed to get back in their regular routines.

“We all have to sleep in our own beds tonight.” Bass said as he pulled plates out of the cupboard. They were overflowing with casseroles from the neighbors. Jasper wasn’t a large town, and people had been dropping by for days to give their condolences and offer help. Apparently most of that help included food.

“No!” Cynthia cried. “We have to sleep in Mom and Dad’s bed.”

“Cyn, you guys have to go back to school on Monday. If we sleep in Mom and Dad’s bed you might be too tired at school.”

“I’m _not_ going back to school.” Angela announced, blinking rapidly to fight tears. Bass sighed.

“Angie, you have to. You’ve had this whole week—”

“A week isn’t enough!” She was losing the battle against crying. Bass set the plates down on the counter and held his breath while he counted to ten to try to keep his cool. He didn’t know what he was doing; he wasn’t a parent. But he figured yelling at his sister, the way he used to do when he was upset, wouldn’t be a great idea.

“Angie, look. If you don’t go back to school, we’re all going to get in trouble, and they might decide I can’t take care of you guys. We have to do everything we’re supposed to, okay?”

“Would we have to go back to the strangers?” Cynthia asked, her eyes big.

“I don’t know where you’d go. But you wouldn’t get to stay at home with me.”

Cynthia started to cry and latched onto his side. “I don’t want to go anywhere else.” She sobbed, burying her face in his stomach. Bass didn’t even understand how he could still have tears left, but his eyes filled up.

“I’m not going to let you guys go anywhere, okay? We’ll all stay together.” He reached over and stroked Angela’s hair with his free hand so all three of them could be connected. He took a deep breath.

“How about this: we can sleep in Mom and Dad’s bed for this weekend, but Sunday night everyone’s back in their own beds so you can sleep good for school on Monday. Okay?”  
  
Cynthia nodded, her face still pressed into his stomach. She’d gotten incredibly clingy, which the same grief article told him was totally normal. He didn’t love being strangled in the middle of the night as she clung to him, but otherwise he didn’t mind much. He was a little more worried about how she was acting much younger than eleven—she’d gone back to sucking her thumb and carrying her teddy bear around. The article had mentioned reverting to a more childlike state and said to watch it, and Bass felt mild alarm because it hadn’t said that behavior was normal and harmless.

“Fine.” Angela muttered.

“I don’t know what else to do.” He told her apologetically. She didn’t say anything and they dropped the subject.

Dropping his sisters off at school on Monday was one of the hardest things Bass had ever done. Cynthia was crying before they even pulled up to the elementary school, so Bass had to carry her into her classroom, whispering promises in her ear that he’d be back to pick her up right on time. She was sobbing and clinging to his neck and begged him not to go. He bit his lip so hard to keep from crying he tasted blood. He saw tears in Cynthia’s teacher’s eyes, but she took Cynthia’s hand and led her away from him.

When they got to the high school, Angela just looked at him, eyes full of tears. “I don’t know if I can do this.” She said. Bass reached over the gear shift and hugged her.

“You can do it.” He mumbled into her hair. “You don’t want to stay home with me anyway. I gotta do a bunch of boring stuff. I have to talk to the Marines people. Try to figure out if I’m allowed out or what. And I have to talk to a lawyer.”

“That’s better than school.” Angela said with a teary laugh as she pulled away. She pulled down the mirror to check her makeup.

“I’d trade you in a heartbeat.” Bass told her. “It’s gonna be fine. I’ll be here to pick you up as soon as you’re done. Promise.”

Angela nodded and got out of the car slowly. A small gaggle of girls with solemn faces had convened a few feet from the car, girls Bass recognized as Angela’s friends who had come to their parents’ funeral. Bass raised a hand at them in greeting, glad they were ready to take care of his sister.

He blew Angela a kiss as she closed the door, something he used to do when they were much, much younger, and she smiled, pretending to catch the kiss and press it to her cheek. He waited until the girls had huddled around her and they walked up the steps in a horde before pulling away from the curb.

He’d made the appointment for the lawyer early, because he didn’t know how long it would take. The lawyer kept talking about his parents’ “estate” and “their wishes” and things Bass didn’t really want to deal with but had to.

“Mr. Monroe, thank you for coming in.” The lawyer, Richardson, was every lawyer stereotype. His suit was impeccably tailored, he had tons of degrees on his office wall, and he had an oily way of talking that set Bass’s teeth on edge. Bass couldn’t respond to being called “Mr. Monroe” just yet. He was Sergeant Monroe or Bass or even Sebastian, but never Mr. Monroe.

“We just have a few things to go through; I’m so sorry you have to worry about these things in your time of grief.” Richardson said.

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” Bass said. He didn’t really know what kinds of things they’d have to go through and he just wanted this to be over.

“Your parents put everything into a trust.” Richardson said this like Bass should know what it meant. He nodded, even though that meant nothing to him. “You were named the beneficiary.”

“Oh…okay.” Bass felt overwhelmed. He didn’t know what a beneficiary was. He didn’t know what any of this meant. He ran a hand over his face.

“This means you receive all of your parents’ property.” Richardson explained, not unkindly. He could probably feel the stress radiating off Bass.

“So it’s…like, it’s all in my name now?” Bass ventured.

“Correct, as soon as we transfer everything.”

Whatever. “What about my sisters?” He asked.

“Yes, the two minor children are in your custody.”

That was really all Bass cared about. Richardson went on, talking to him about insurance policies and taking the death certificate and a trust instrument to the bank to prove he was the beneficiary and had access to his parents’ accounts, and Bass tried his hardest to take everything in. Richardson handed him a stack of documents he had to sign. Bass felt so overwhelmed he wanted to cry. But he squared his shoulders and got to work. Twenty minutes later, hand cramping, Bass had signed everything. Richardson sent him on his way with a folder full of documents he needed and a list of what he had to do.

It took Bass forever to get everything done at the bank, but he did it. He felt exhausted. And he was a little shocked by how much money his parents had left behind. He’d known they were well off, because William had been a doctor and Gail had been a professor at the college in town for a little while, but he hadn’t known they were _that_ well off. His salary seemed like pennies compared to his parents’ whopping bank account, plus there were two separate accounts for Angela and Cynthia, college funds. Maybe they had so much money because he’d never used his.

Bass drove back to the elementary school a little bit early. He figured Cynthia’s teacher wouldn’t care if he pulled her out half an hour before the end of the day. Cynthia had been so upset when he’d left and he couldn’t stop thinking of her tear-stained face.

Cynthia’s eyes were puffy when he caught sight of her, head down diligently as she did a worksheet. Her teacher smiled sadly at him and nodded when he motioned toward Cynthia. He started wading through the desks, kids looking up and whispering about him. Cynthia looked up at the commotion and jumped out of her seat. She launched herself at him and he caught her, glad she was so small.

“Should we let Angie ditch, too?” Bass asked as they walked to the car hand in hand.

“No.” Cynthia said. “She’d be sad because she wouldn’t see Brad.”

“Who’s Brad?” Bass huffed as he swung Cynthia up into the car. She giggled.

“He’s the boy she likes!”

“Well, she is too young to be liking boys.” Bass declared. He pointed a finger in her face and pushed the end of her nose. “And that goes double for you.”

Cynthia giggled some more while he went around to the driver’s side. “Boys are smelly.” She said.

“Very true.” Bass agreed. “Buckle your seat belt.”

“You never do.” Cynthia pointed out. Bass made a big show of grabbing the seat belt and clicking it into place, telling himself not to think about the way the seat belt had almost decapitated his mother.

“Your turn.”

They had about an hour until Angela was done, and it was a bright spring day, so Bass let Cynthia convince him to stop at the park between their house and the high school. He gave her under-dogs on the swing and she tried to return the favor, panting and telling him, “I can’t do it ‘cause you’re too fat!”

Bass watched his baby sister wistfully. Her whole life was different. The worst thing that had happened to him at her age was he’d broken his wrist jumping off Miles’s bunk bed. Her parents had died. It didn’t seem fair.

A boy was walking with Angela when they pulled into the parking lot, and Bass almost rolled down the window to embarrass her before deciding better of it. Maybe in a few weeks, when she was feeling more herself. He watched the boy give her a hug with narrowed eyes, intently assessing the boy’s hand placement. It didn’t seem to be anything Angela didn’t want. The boy could keep his hands. For now.

Angela didn’t complain that Cynthia was in the front seat. She must’ve really liked that boy. “Does Angie have a boyfriend?” Bass asked in a sing-song voice, looking in the mirror to see Angela’s cheeks go red.

“No.” She answered. “He’s just my friend.”

Bass laughed. “Uh-huh. I’ve had a lot of friends, too.”

“Bass!” Angela was smiling and Bass relished the sight.

“I won’t embarrass you too bad.” He promised. Cynthia giggled.

“Embarrass her!” She cried.

“Oh, we’ve got two votes for embarr—” The words died on Bass’s lips when he pulled into the driveway. Miles was sitting on the front porch. He stood up when he saw the car.

“Miles!” Cynthia yelled excitedly, throwing off her seat belt and jumping out of the car before Bass had even cut the engine. She ran to the porch and jumped into his arms. Miles squeezed her tight, closing his eyes. Bass took the steps two at a time and grabbed Miles’s arm.

“Miles, what are you doing here?” He asked anxiously. Bass gave him the once-over. “Are you hurt? How’d you get home?”

“Two week medical leave.” Miles said. Now Bass pulled Cynthia out of Miles’s arms so he could examine his best friend properly, looking for wounds. Angela came up then and hugged Miles.

“Leg.” Miles said. Bass looked at him questioningly. He didn’t see any bandages and Miles wasn’t on crutches. “I pulled my hamstring.” Miles explained. “Wilson said it was really serious and I’d better take some leave.” He was grinning and Bass felt a smile split his own face.

“Wilson.” He said fondly. “What a guy. Come here.” He pulled Miles in for a hug. They’d been apart for barely a week, but Bass had missed Miles a lot. They weren’t really used to being apart.

“You alright?” Miles murmured in his ear. Bass just sighed and Miles squeezed him tighter. “I know.” Miles whispered. “It’s okay.”

“Are you gonna hug forever?” Cynthia demanded.

“You have the keys, Bass. We can’t get it in.” Angela added. Bass pulled away from Miles, laughing.

“Hey, when was the last time you went a week without your best friend?” He asked as he unlocked the door. “Cyn, did you leave your backpack in the car?”

“Yes,” she called unapologetically over her shoulder as she ran up the stairs to her room.

“I’ll get it.” Miles offered. But Bass saw him wince as he went down the first step and grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Miles! You really did pull your hamstring? I thought Wilson was just bullshitting so you could come home.”

“Well, he is.” Miles explained. “Since when does a pulled muscle get you medical leave? I did pull it. It’s just not that bad.”

“Well, shit, brother, don’t go running around if you’re hurt. I’ll get it.” Bass bounded down the stairs before Miles could protest. He came back to hear Angela telling Miles,

“Bass swears so much more when you’re around.”

“That’s because Bass has a filthy potty-mouth.” Miles responded. “Maybe we better hold him down and wash his mouth out with soap.”

“You’d have to do it, too.” Angela pointed out. Miles feigned shock.

“I never swear!”

Bass came up behind Miles and goosed him, prompting Miles to jump in the air and shout, “Shit!” Angela laughed, her point proved, and Miles pouted.

“Hungry?” Bass asked.

“Yeah, but I can wait until you guys eat.”

“What’s with the politeness?” Bass teased. “I’ll make you a sandwich. Go take a shower. You smell like hell.”

Bass got Angela and Cynthia going on their homework at the kitchen table and took the phone down the hall to call the Marines personnel office. Wilson hadn’t told him how long his leave was. If they didn’t make him report to base or go back to Iraq for two weeks when their unit’s deployment was up, he could simply not reenlist and be honorably discharged.

“We’re very sorry to hear about your loss, Sergeant Monroe.” The voice on the end of the line sounded a little sympathetic but mostly weary.

“Thank you, sir.” He didn’t know the man’s rank but tacking on a “sir” never hurt anyone, especially when you were trying to get special treatment.

“I just—I don’t know how long my leave is.” Bass explained. “See, my sisters are just kids, they’re um, minors, and I have custody of them now, so I was wondering…about that.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.” The man said, voice softening.

“They’re just eleven and fifteen.” Bass saw the opening in the man’s sympathy and decided to press his advantage. Maybe it was a little bit manipulative but he’d do what he needed to. His sisters needed him far more than the Marine Corps did.

“So young.” The man murmured sadly. “My daughter is twelve.” Bass’s heart leaped. This was so going to work.

“Yeah, and the younger one, she’s so broken up.” Bass continued. The emotion in his voice wasn’t even fake; he just didn’t fight to control it. “She’s been having these awful nightmares and she’s gotten really clingy to me.”

“Well, I don’t see an end date filled in for your leave.” The man said.

“What does that mean?” He asked. He closed his eyes and crossed his fingers.

“It was probably an oversight by your CO.” The man explained. “He just didn’t fill it in.” He hesitated. “Look, your enlistment’s up when your unit gets back in two weeks. I could…well, I could fill in the date for that long.”

“Oh, I don’t want to get you in trouble.” Bass argued gently.

“It’ll be fine.” The man said, and Bass silently cheered. “Just make sure you report at the end of the two weeks.”

“Thank you so much.” Bass said genuinely. “I can’t thank you enough. It really means so much.”

“I’m just glad I could help. I usually have to give people really bad news.”

Bass leaned against the wall, so relieved he could cry. Miles came out of the bathroom and Bass relayed what had happened. Miles laughed. “There’s no way Wilson did that on accident.” Miles declared. “He was hoping this would happen.”

“We have to buy him a beer when they get back.” Bass agreed.

When it was time for Cynthia to go to bed, she insisted Miles help Bass tuck her in, which included singing her goodnight song. The first few days had been a struggle for Bass to remember the words, because Cynthia hadn’t needed her goodnight song in years. They left her with a kiss to her forehead each. She had her teddy bear on one side and a stuffed bunny on the other.

“She’s acting like she’s five.” Miles said, voice low and concerned. Bass shook his head.

“I know. I read something that said it’s kind of common for kids to do that. It’s freaking me out, though.”

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Miles reassured him. They went to the living room and plopped onto the couch on either side of Angela. She was watching some dating show.

“You better not be getting any ideas.” Bass warned.

Miles groaned. “Are you old enough for boys now?”

“No.” Bass insisted, while Angela said,

“Yes.”

“I like Bass’s answer better.” Miles said. Angela’s eyes filled with tears.

“Before Mom and Dad left we got in a fight about Brad.” She said. Miles put an arm around her.

“Don’t feel guilty.” Miles told her. “They loved you and they knew you loved them.”

Bass watched, transfixed. Miles wasn’t much for words or emotions, but somehow he always knew how to make Bass feel better, and it seemed like that power extended to all the Monroes. Angela nodded, sniffling. After she finished her show, she went to her room. Bass switched the TV to a baseball game. They watched in silence for a little while.

“What do we do now?” Miles asked. Bass shrugged.

“Can’t really go anywhere.” He said. “They’re both probably old enough to be home alone but I don’t really want to leave them—”

“I didn’t mean literally, Bass.” Miles turned to face him. “I mean…what do we do? With our lives?”

Bass had been wondering the same thing since he’d gotten off the phone. He didn’t know how to be a civilian. He didn’t have any skills. Well, that wasn’t entirely true—he could shoot a gun with deadly accuracy, scout for a sniper, and crawl on his belly through the desert to avoid enemy fire. He just didn’t have any skills that would help him outside the Marines.

“Well, aren’t you reenlisting?” Bass asked. It had been their plan. Miles looked at him like he’d grown another head.

“I’m not reenlisting without you.” He said. “You think I’m going back out to that desert alone? Shit.”

Bass nodded. Miles was the only reason he'd been planning to reenlist. “I guess we could…go to college.” Bass suggested. “GI Bill and all that.”

“You should go to college.” Miles said in a voice that suggested he wasn’t planning to do the same.

“What about you?” Bass asked.

“College, Bass? You know I’m not cut out for that.” Miles shook his head and looked away. Bass fought the urge to roll his eyes. Miles could be so insecure sometimes.

“Miles, what did you want to be when we were nine?”

Miles sighed. “Come on, Bass. I was nine.”

“An architect. I remember. It was all you could talk about.” Bass poked Miles’s shoulder. “So let’s do it, brother.”

“I don’t know.” Miles ran a hand through his hair. “I’m too old for college.”

“I’m the same age.” Bass pointed out.

“But you’re smart.” It slipped out, like Miles didn’t want to say it, and he winced a little after he said it. Now it was Bass's turn to sigh.

“Miles, you’re smart. You just don’t think you are because you always compare yourself to Ben. Just because you’re not a genuine genius doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”

“Maybe.” Miles said. Bass decided to drop it for the time being. “I don’t know if we can both go to school, though.” Miles continued, apparently not making the same decision as Bass.

“Why not?”

“Well, who’ll stay with the girls?” He said it with a little shrug. Bass stared at him for a minute.

“Miles, are you…you’re gonna stick around and…”

Now Miles looked awkward. “Well, I just thought…I thought I’d help you.” He paused. “I mean if you don’t want me to—”

“Shut up!” Bass interrupted him. “Of course I want you to!” Bass grabbed Miles’s knee and squeezed. Miles twitched a little, not entirely comfortable with physical affection, but he didn’t pull away the way he would’ve if anyone else had done it.

“But we can still both go to college, you know.” Bass was just going to make one last point before dropping it until later. “They’re in school all day and they’re old enough to be home alone for a little while.”

Miles sighed and Bass held up his hands in resignation. He just didn’t want Miles to come up with dumb excuses. If Miles didn’t want to go to college, Bass wouldn’t push it, but he didn’t want Miles to decide not to go because he was afraid.

They had a guest bedroom across the hall from Bass’s bedroom, but no one in Bass’s family called it the guest bedroom—they called it Miles’s room, and sometimes other people came to visit and slept there. It’d been that way for years, and Bass’s mom had even decorated it in Miles’s favorite color, blue. Bass and Miles weren’t awkward about sharing the bathroom; Miles came in to go to the bathroom while Bass brushed his teeth. Not many people had thought it possible, but the Marines had made them even closer than they’d been before.

Bass didn’t sleep easily. When he didn’t wake up from nightmares of helicopters spitting fire at him, he saw his father flying through the windshield and onto the pavement. He hugged a pillow to his chest, trying to force himself to sleep, when his door opened.

“Did you have a nightmare again?” He asked without opening his eyes, rolling over to make room in his bed. The extra weight on his bed was way too much to be Cynthia. He opened his eyes and Miles was laughing at him.

“Do I get cuddles for my nightmares?” He asked. Bass hit him with the extra pillow.

“What are you doing?”

“I could hear you tossing and turning.” Miles settled onto the bed.

“Sorry.” Bass muttered, embarrassed.

They lay in silence, listening to each other breathe. “So?” Miles finally asked. Bass didn’t say anything. Miles turned onto his side so he could look at Bass.

“You gonna talk?” Miles asked. Bass huffed out a breath.

“You’re the one who came into my bed! Why don’t _you_ talk?”

“Well, Bass, you’re the one who needs to.” Miles pointed out. Bass could feel his eyes filling up. Tears seemed to be lying in wait to spring up these days.

“I don’t know what to say.” Bass said. “My parents are dead, Miles. What am I supposed to say?”

Miles shrugged beside him. “You can say whatever you want.”

Bass laughed bitterly. “What, you want me to say what I feel, huh? You want me to say this is so fucking unfair I want to scream? I want to find that guy who did this to us and kill him, Miles. Not a figure of speech. I want to shoot him in the fucking head. I want to show him a picture of my parents and I want to show him my sisters crying, and I want to beat him to death, and then I want to shoot him.” It was the truth, a truth Bass had been trying to bury deep within himself because it made him feel sick. He stopped talking when he started crying. Miles threw an arm over his chest.

“I know.” He said simply. “And I know you need to say it.”

Bass rolled over to push his face into Miles’s shoulder and cry. He’d always cried easily, but this was a whole new level. He’d also never cried on Miles so much. Miles was usually, if not always, around when Bass cried, but usually sitting behind him or standing semi-awkwardly to one side. But here he was, rubbing Bass’s back and stroking his hair and making soothing noises that weren’t shushes because he knew Bass hated to be shushed.

When Bass had cried himself out, he pushed away from Miles, feeling embarrassed. He caught sight of something glinting in the moonlight and realized Miles had tears on his face. He felt like a huge dick. Miles hadn’t gotten any time to grieve, and this was the second set of parents Miles had lost.

“Miles?” Bass asked hoarsely. Miles took a breath that was a little shuddery.

“Sorry. This is for you, not me.” Miles shook his head. Bass couldn’t take it, couldn’t handle the sight of Miles trying to force his feelings down like some kind of gross medicine. Bass pushed Miles to his chest the way Miles had done for him.

“It’s for you, too,” Bass whispered. Miles didn’t sob on Bass’s chest, but he trembled and clung to Bass for a minute. He pulled away and they both returned to lying on their backs, looking at the ceiling instead of one another.

“Big dipper’s still there.” Miles commented. They’d stuck glow-in-the-dark stars and constellations on the ceiling when they were about Cynthia’s age. All the planets had fallen down, but the big dipper was still there, weakly trying to ward off the dark. For some reason, Miles’s comment was the funniest thing Bass had heard in a long time, and soon they dissolved into laughter so hard they couldn’t breathe and neither of them was even making noise anymore.

Bass didn’t remember when they stopped laughing or when they fell asleep, but he managed to sleep the rest of the night without waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's pretty obvious that I don't know anything about the procedure Marines have to go through to get leave or get discharged, etc. I'm also not sure if Bass and Miles would've been sergeants at this point, since we know they were sergeants at the time of the Blackout and this is four years before that. But I don't really see how they would've only been sergeants at the Blackout when they'd ostensibly been Marines for ten years by then (and, for that matter, why on earth they were stationed at Parris Island when that's a training station? Unless maybe they were doing the training? Idk.) so I'm chalking it up to the different ranks of sergeants, so here they are the first rank of sergeants and in canon they were higher-up sergeants when the Blackout hit. I don't know if this is plausible, and I'm sorry if any of you are super familiar with Marine Corps protocol, but please bear with me here and let me pretend it's creative license.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Gizzi for pointing out I've mixed up the girls' ages; in canon Cynthia is the older of the two. I'm going to say it was a stylistic choice ~~and not that I just didn't fact check enough~~. More Marine stuff (and I greatly apologize to ChelleyPam, who actually knows Marine stuff, for how far off it's going to be) and some sad feels and then next chapter we're going to start getting to the ~~goods~~ romance.

They fell into an easy routine of getting the girls off to school and then screwing around all day. They wasted the first few days, lying around watching TV, eating way too much, but they were running out of food, so one day they ventured to the grocery store. They both tried to avoid civilian grocery stores as much as possible, because they could be pretty overwhelming, but they figured they needed to get used to it now that they were civilians, too.

“Well, what should we buy?” Miles asked when they entered the store.

“Uh…” Bass had no idea. “I guess we should’ve made a list.” He said sheepishly.

“Shit, a list. That’s a good idea.”

People were coming in behind them, annoyed that they were blocking the entrance, so they had to move. Bass grabbed a cart.

“I guess we start with the easy stuff. Milk?”

“Milk.” Miles agreed.

They ended up wandering through every aisle, trying to think of what Angela and Cynthia would want to eat and even buying vegetables. When Miles grabbed some beer and put it in the cart, Bass stared at it for a long moment.

“Bass?”

“I just, uh…” Bass trailed off. Miles put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re not going to drive, Bass.” Miles said softly, somehow knowing what the problem was even though Bass couldn’t say it. Bass nodded.

“I haven’t had anything since it happened.” He admitted.

“Yeah, me neither.” Miles joked. He hadn’t had a chance. But he went back to being serious. “If you don’t want it…”

“Nah, it’s not like I’m going to quit drinking.” Bass said, shaking himself out of his funk. Miles was right. They wouldn’t drive. They weren’t like that asshole who killed his parents. _Samuel Robinson_. That was who had done this to them.

There was a stack of bills in the mail when Bass remembered to get it, and he realized no one had gotten the mail in almost two weeks. He hoped none of them were past due.  
“Shit, I bet they pay some stuff online.” Bass mused aloud. “I don’t know their passwords or anything.”

“Well, what’s not in there?” Miles asked, gesturing to the pile. They went through and tried to figure out if anything important was being overlooked. As far as they could tell, they’d gotten everything, and Bass hoped anything they missed could be easily fixed or done without.

Bass got an SAT prep book and made Miles study with him. Bass’s score from his junior year of high school wouldn’t count anymore and Miles had never bothered to take it. Miles grumbled about taking tests when he really didn’t know if he was going to do this college thing, and Bass ignored him. The fact that he would agree to study at all meant he was going to college. He just hadn’t admitted it to himself yet in case the plan fell through.

When it came time to report to the base, Bass was a nervous wreck. They had to leave Cynthia and Angela alone all weekend. When Bass had been fifteen, he’d felt incredibly old and mature, but looking at fifteen from twenty-four was way different. Angela was just a kid, and she was still grieving. He couldn’t leave her in charge of Cynthia all weekend, could he?

“Have ‘em stay at a friend’s house.” Miles suggested. It was so strange to both of them that this was a problem, because they used to regularly spend whole weekends at each other’s houses. Neither girl had a default friend to stay with, and Bass had to call two sets of parents and ask them to take in his sisters. Being in charge sucked.

“I’ll take one, you take one.” Miles said. Bass looked up, surprised. Miles hated talking to people, period, but he especially hated talking to strangers, and there was no end to his hatred of talking to strangers on the phone.

“Really?”

Miles shrugged. “I said I’d help. We’re family, right?” Bass couldn’t help himself and hugged Miles. Miles shook him off, but he was laughing.

They got on the road for their eleven-hour drive to Parris Island. Cynthia had clung to both of them, begging them not to leave, and Miles had been more shaken than Bass. Miles hadn’t seen that happen yet. He’d almost been ready to just not report and go AWOL, but Bass had reminded him that would mean a hearing and a bunch of bureaucracy.

“They’ll be fine.” They kept reassuring one another at different intervals. It was kind of nice to be on the road, though, just the two of them like old times. Bass felt a little guilty about how much fun it was to be on a roadtrip with Miles when he knew Cynthia was probably still bawling her eyes out.

They sang along to the music, they ate horrible road-trip snacks, and they laughed more than either had in months. It was wonderful. There was something so incredibly carefree about driving along with your best friend, each trying to out-sing the other.

Luckily, Bass had remembered his I.D. (with Miles’s help), so they didn’t have any problems getting on base.

“Matheson. Monroe.” Wilson smiled. “It’s good to see you.” He looked exhausted.

“You, too, sir.” Bass saluted him and then grinned widely. “I believe we owe you a drink.” Wilson laughed.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just your CO.” He winked as he walked away, mouthing, “Yeah, you owe me.”

“I hear you two are out.” Carlson swaggered up behind them. Bass grimaced. He hated that guy. “Now that you’re out of here, you can finally be _out_ out.” He laughed like he’d just made the best joke in the world. Miles rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re a real comedian.” He muttered.

“Really, I’m happy for you guys.” Carlson continued. “I’ll get you a housewarming gift. Some aprons or something?” He clapped them both on the shoulders and Miles was fighting hard not to punch him. Bass gave him a look. They’d agreed not to let any last minute stupidity get in the way of their honorable discharges, but Carlson was making it hard. They had to do a lot of waiting around as a unit, so they were stuck with Carlson. They were sitting on the ground and Carlson was trying to be the center of attention, as usual. Every time he said something, even something harmless, Miles and Bass would look at each other, silently mocking him with their eyes.

“What do you two fairies keep giggling at?” Carlson snapped, tired of their snickering. Miles growled a little and Bass jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

“Just leave us alone, Carlson.” Bass said tiredly, leaning his head against the wall.

“I’m sure you’d like to be alone.” Carlson sneered.

“Lord, Carlson, give it a rest.” A guy they didn’t know very well called out. “All you’re doing is convincing everyone you’re a closet case.”

Everyone in the room started laughing and Carlson’s face went scarlet. He folded his arms and sat down, finally shutting up for once. It wasn’t too long before the ball finally got rolling for everyone to sort out their new orders.

The next morning, after a last night in the barracks, Miles and Bass set back on the road to home, both honorably discharged from the Marin Corps. “I’m going to grow my hair so long.” Miles crowed. Bass snorted.

“Remember that time you said you were going to get dreads?”

“What happened to our pact not to use high school against each other?”

Cynthia cried when they picked her up. Bass hoped she hadn’t cried the whole weekend while they were laughing and playing around.

“Hey, you’re s’posed to be happy to see us, Cinnamon Bear.” Miles tried to joke with her. It was his old nickname for her, because when she was born he’d said _Cynthia Claire_ made him think of _Cinnamon Bear_. He'd been thirteen and thought himself extremely clever.

“I thought you weren’t going to come back.” She said, holding tight to his neck.

“Why wouldn’t we come back?” He asked.

“Mom and Dad didn’t.”

Miles and Bass looked at each other. Bass felt like someone had stabbed him. He just smiled at Cynthia and tweaked her nose. He couldn’t promise he’d always come back; it was more certain now that he was out of the Corps, but it wasn’t really a true promise, as she now knew all too well. Angela was happier to see them, smiling a genuine smile and giving Cynthia a hug. At least one of the girls was doing okay.

“Do you think we should have Cynthia talk to someone?” Bass asked around his toothbrush that night as he and Miles were getting ready for bed.

“What, like a therapist?” Miles spat into the sink.

“Yeah.” Bass reached around Miles to grab a towel off the hook. “I mean, I don’t know how to help her. She’s afraid every time anyone leaves.”

“I think they have special therapists for kids.” Miles took the towel from Bass to wipe his mouth. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

Bass leaned one hip against the counter and shook his head. “I just don’t know how to fix this.”

Miles smiled sadly at him. “You can’t.” He said. Bass’s heart hurt again. Miles would know. His mom had died when they were fourteen, after a long, drawn-out fight with ALS. Most of Miles’s memories of her included doctors or wheelchairs or having to stay very quiet while she was resting. Miles’s dad had become almost completely inaccessible after his wife’s death, and once Ben went off to college during Miles’s sophomore year of high school, Miles had been all but alone at home. He’d spent more time at Bass’s house than his own, and when his dad moved away after Miles graduated high school and enlisted, Miles hadn’t shed any tears.

“Life kinda sucks.” Bass said softly.

“Sometimes.” Miles agreed.

“I’m mad.” Bass admitted.

“I know.”

“You know, I always thought I’d be dead by now.” Bass said, looking down. “And I…I wish it would’ve been me. Instead of them. A trade-off, you know? Then the girls would still have parents.”

Miles was quiet for a long time. “They’ve got you.” He said. Bass scoffed. “It’s not nothing. Well.” Miles started, then hesitated. Bass looked at him questioningly. Miles leaned against the counter, too, facing Bass and close enough that Bass could feel Miles’s breath on his cheek. Miles shrugged. “I mean…what the hell would I be without you?” He asked.  
It was almost a non sequitur, the way Miles jumped from the girls to himself, but Bass was well enough versed in Miles to know the jump had happened from the girls having Bass and it’s not nothing to Miles having Bass. Bass didn’t know what to say, so he just kind of laughed and shook his head. Miles squeezed the back of his neck. It was something that always calmed Bass down.

“Get some sleep, Bass.” Miles said. Bass nodded.

“Night, Miles.”

“Night, Bass.”

Bass got a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach when he watched the door close on Miles’s face. He chalked it up to all the emotional upheaval and how Miles was the best at calming him down. He put it out of his mind and went to bed, and when he woke up the next morning he didn’t remember his dream about Miles coming in his room again in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we ever get any kind of canon explanation for why Miles doesn't seem to have parents? As far as I know there isn't, but there seems to be a fandom consensus that Mr. Matheson, whoever he was, was pretty emotionally inaccessible.


	4. Chapter 4

Bass was looking at Angela’s history homework over her shoulder one night after dinner when a clatter at the kitchen sink told him Miles was doing the dishes. Angela glanced at him and they shared a smirk. Miles hated doing dishes. Bass had seen him stick a knife between an insurgent’s ribs and have blood dripping to his elbows without batting an eye, but the slimy, wet food left on plates after a meal made him gag. Bass went in and took up residence beside Miles at the sink, tugging the sponge from Miles’s hands.

“You can rinse.” Bass said, taking the worst part of the job.

“I _can_ wash the dishes.” Miles said. He was trying to sound annoyed but mostly was just relieved. It was a bit crowded at the sink; two grown men could fit in the space, but not without a certain amount of shoulder-touching and elbow-bumping. Bass had seen his parents doing the dishes together plenty of times, but both his parents were smaller than he and Miles.

It didn’t take long for them to start splashing each other. It started accidentally but quickly became purposeful. Bass started blowing soap bubbles at Miles and Miles armed himself with the spray nozzle. They had an unspoken rule that the face was off-limits, and they were trying to avoid making too much of a mess, so they were mostly just getting each other’s hands and shirts.

“You guys are being so _loud_.” Angela complained from the table.

“Sorry,” Bass gasped, an arm around Miles as he tried to wrestle the nozzle away. Miles’s arms were too long, and he kept pushing Bass away easily.

“You’re both going to fall and crack your heads open.” Cynthia admonished. Falling and cracking your head open was a common worry in the Monroe household, both because of the ridiculous antics the kids got into and because it was William’s standard warning whenever he heard his kids making noise. He always hoped saying it would make them stop whatever they were doing so he wouldn’t have to get up to sort it out.

Miles relented first, holding up his hands in surrender, and when Bass put down the bottle of dish soap he shot a last stream of water at Bass’s chest and ran for it. Bass gasped and chased after him, yelling, “Traitor!” They thundered down the stairs and Bass heard Cynthia repeat the warning about cracking their heads open.

“The stairs are slippery when you’re wearing socks!” She yelled knowingly. Angela said something to her and both girls laughed. Bass was glad the house was noisy with laughter again instead of all their anguish and tears.

By the time he caught up to Miles, Miles had stripped off his sopping shirt. Bass did the same, throwing his wet shirt at Miles to put in the laundry hamper in the bathroom. Bass turned to go into his room to get a dry shirt when suddenly Miles was crowding him in the small hallway, pushing his chest to Bass’s back. His arms went around Bass’s waist, trapping him so he couldn’t move, but Miles kept walking and pretended Bass was causing the hold up.

“Come on, Bass, move.” Miles teased. It was the sort of thing they’d always done; tripping each other, play-fighting, wrestling. But for some reason Bass’s bare skin was burning where it was touching Miles’s, and then Miles wasn’t pushing him forward anymore but still had his arms around Bass’s waist. Bass could feel Miles’s hot breath on his shoulder and Miles’s heart matching tempo with his own pounding rhythm.

To his horror, Bass was suddenly sporting a semi right there in the hallway.

Miles got off him and didn’t say anything, just backed up quick and went to his room for a shirt, and Bass went to his own room, holding his breath. What the _hell_ had just happened? He hadn’t gotten laid in a while; he told himself that was the problem. He needed to find a woman to hook up with, and _fast_.

He pulled a shirt over his head and recited the Pledge of Allegiance before venturing back up the stairs. Miles came out of his room almost at the same time, and they acted like nothing had happened, though Miles kept his distance as they went up the stairs.

“Bass, can you help me?” Angela asked when she noticed them come back into the room. “I can’t find this answer in my book.”

“Yeah, course, Angie.” Bass said automatically. He had to read the question twice before he could focus enough on the words to actually think of an answer.

“Bassy, are you going to get married?” Cynthia asked out of the blue, legs swinging and head down as she continued coloring.

“What?”

“Sarah’s big brother is getting married soon. What about you?”

“I’m not—I can’t get married.” Bass said distractedly, pretending to be intent on Angela’s history homework. He could feel Miles’s eyes on him and a flush started to creep up his neck.

“Why not?” Cynthia asked.

“Bass doesn’t even have a girlfriend.” Angela told her. “He has to date before he can get married.”

“Well, you can date my teacher.” Cynthia offered. “Her name is Ms. Benson and she’s really pretty and she’s not married yet, either.”

“Bass can’t date your teacher.” Angela said in a _no-duh_ voice. “That would be super awkward if they broke up. She’d probably hate you after that.”

Bass licked his lips. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having after that weirdness in the hallway.

“But you _should_ date someone.” Angela turned back to Bass. “Both of you.” She added with a nod of her head to Miles. Miles sputtered. “It’s a little pathetic that neither of you have girlfriends.” Angela went on, ignoring how uncomfortable they both were.

“Thanks, Angie.” Bass huffed.

“Well, it is.” She shrugged unapologetically. “I mean, you’re both really buff and you’re Marines. Girls love Marines.”

“Not all girls.” Miles muttered, and Bass knew he was thinking of Emma, which then made him think of Emma, which then made him feel sick with guilt. Miles gave him a look, because he could see the guilt on Bass’s face, and Miles had forgiven Bass for that sin years ago.

“You should go out this weekend.” Angela said. “Me and Cyn can handle being alone.”

“Are you trying to get rid of us to hang out with that boy?” Bass asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He’d pulled that trick in high school.

“You’re so paranoid.” Angela said, rolling her eyes. She put a hand over her heart. “I swear I won’t invite Brad over. I just think you guys should have some fun.” She smiled sadly. “You haven’t had fun in a long time.”

Bass’s throat suddenly felt tight. He didn’t know how he’d lucked out and gotten such a smart little sister. He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll have fun.” He promised. “Thanks, Angie.”

But Bass was not having fun. Everything had been normal between him and Miles for the rest of the week, except Miles was suddenly touching him more—sitting closer, grabbing his shoulder, poking him in the ribs. Bass couldn’t tell if Miles was _actually_ touching him more or if Bass was just suddenly hyperaware, and he couldn’t tell if he was hyperaware because he was weirded out or if it was because he _wanted_ Miles to be touching him more. He just tried not to think most of the time. Since they’d told Angela they’d go out and meet girls, they’d gone a town over to a bar they’d been to a few times when they’d been home on leave.

Normally, when they went to bars, Miles kind of sulked in a corner drinking while Bass chatted up pairs of girls until he found one he liked and one who liked the strong, silent type and led them back to the table Miles was holding. But tonight, Miles was _talking_ to women, and Bass was feeling decidedly grumpy.

A noisy, smoky, crowded bar was not the ideal place to realize you had feelings for your best friend, but that was what was happening to Bass. Because there was no mistaking that hot, sick feeling in his stomach as he watched Miles make some girl laugh as anything other than jealously, and it wasn’t because Bass wanted the girl for himself. The jealousy was aimed at the girl, and Bass suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Miles? He wanted _Miles_? When had that happened? Miles, with his grumpiness and his bad fashion sense and his inability to admit he was a human with _feelings_ and not a robot? Miles, who he’d shared a bed with and seen naked more times than he could count? He’d never been turned on by Miles before. The only time was that day in the hallway. Plus there was the whole thing with Miles being a _man_. Bass wasn’t gay. Was he? He’d never been gay before. Had he? Now he wasn’t sure.

Bass couldn’t handle this. He felt like the bar was running out of air. He was standing up to leave, to get some air, when a girl came over to him, all smiles and sultry lips and a flirtatious hand on his arm, and Bass thought, _Yes, this is what I need, to get my head back._

He let the girl lead him to the middle of the bar to dance, and she pressed herself close to him almost immediately. Bass couldn’t pretend he wasn’t enjoying or responding to it, but his heart wasn’t pounding and his stomach wasn’t doing backflips. Shit. He felt someone staring at him and knew instinctively it was Miles. He looked up and met Miles’s eyes. Miles wasn’t dancing, because Miles didn’t dance, but he was letting the girl he’d been talking to grind on him. Bass pursed his lips and moved his hips in time with the girl pressed against him, still watching Miles. Miles’s face was red and he was glaring. He started moving with the girl and Bass glared right back.

If Bass had let himself stop to think logically about the situation, he would have recognized its ridiculousness. He and Miles were in some weird game of chicken, both getting increasingly sexual with a random woman while boring holes into one another with their eyes. Bass had his hands on the girl’s ass and was pushing her against himself while Miles had devolved into necking with his girl in the corner. Their eyes were still locked and it was making Bass way harder than the girl drunkenly crushing herself to him. She started moaning and he suddenly couldn’t do it anymore. He pulled away, murmuring apologies. She stared after him, open-mouthed, eyes half-closed, before another guy took his place and she forgot Bass.

He ran his hands through his hair and pushed his way back to where he’d been sitting. He grabbed his lukewarm beer and finished it before Miles was at his elbow.

“What the hell?” Miles growled. Bass caught the bartender’s eye and motioned for another beer.

“What the hell what?” He snapped.

“What was that?”

“Shit, Miles, I was just following your lead. You’re the one who grabbed a girl the second we walked in.” Bass drained his second beer in two long gulps.

“You made it pretty clear that’s what we’re here for. To ‘grab some girls and get some tail’, right?” Miles spat. Bass had said that in the car on the way there, trying to muster up his old bravado from all their past wild weekends.  
  
“I thought that’s what you wanted!” Bass hissed, not wanting to make a scene.

“I don’t know what the hell I want.” Miles said softly, and Bass knew he hadn’t imagined what had happened in the hallway.

Bass stood and stalked out of the bar. He leaned against the car, angrily scuffing his shoe against the gravel. If he hadn’t left, he would’ve either punched Miles or kissed him, neither of which was a good idea. After a minute, the chirping crickets and the light breeze had calmed him down. Miles came out and leaned beside him, their shoulders just barely touching.

They didn’t say anything. Finally, Bass wordlessly handed Miles the keys. Miles hadn’t had anything to drink and Bass had. Bass wouldn’t drive after even one drink. Never again.  
  
As Miles went around to the driver’s side, Bass said quietly, “I don’t know what I want either, but it wasn’t that.”


	5. Chapter 5

Miles and Bass had been awkwardly polite for days. They hadn’t talked all the way home from the bar, and Bass had waited until Miles was done in the bathroom and shut securely in his room before Bass went in to get ready for bed. They were pretending nothing had happened, like Bass hadn’t almost gotten off just on Miles’s intense eye contact, and it was making the whole house tense and uncomfortable. Miles was avoiding looking at him and jumped anytime they accidentally bumped into one another.

It took Bass forever to fall asleep most nights. He would strain his ears, listening to Miles getting ready for bed, trying to ignore the pictures in his head of Miles’s body, telling himself this was stupid, _he_ was stupid, hating that he couldn’t stop thinking about Miles’s eyes boring into his, remembering the feeling of Miles’s skin against his.

It felt like the oppressive heat that warned of a thunderstorm, and that was exactly what was going to happen. Bass knew what he was going to do was a terrible idea, that he was going to start a fight, but he didn’t care. He waited until the girls were at school and he and Miles were sitting at the table working on their SAT stuff before dropping his bomb.

“Have you talked to your family?” He asked innocently. Miles’s whole body tensed.

“What?”

“Miles, we’ve been home for, what, a month? Don’t you think you should at least let Ben and your dad know you’re alive?” If he’d stopped at Ben, it would’ve been tense but not volatile. He’d added Miles’s dad on purpose.

“Why the fuck would I call my dad?” Miles said, teeth clenched.

“Uh, because he’s your dad?”

“You know I haven’t told him anything and you know I emailed Ben to tell him I’m home. Are you just trying to piss me off?” Miles accused. Bass held his hands up like he was showing a civilian he didn’t have a weapon.

“Hey, I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Like hell.”

“Well, you’re right, I knew you hadn’t told anyone anything important.” He saw dread on Miles’s face and smiled a twisted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I called Ben. Told him we're out of the Marines.”

“Bass, what the fuck’s wrong with you?” Miles exploded. “Stay out of it. It’s my family, my problem.”

“Well, you’re _my_ family; that makes it _my_ problem.” Bass shot back. “Or is it different when it’s your family?”

“It’s different because you didn’t do it to help.” Miles said, so angry Bass could feel it coming off him in waves. “You did this to piss me off and screw me over.”

“I just want you to talk to your family. Maybe I’m a little worried about being your family because you treat the family you have like shit!” Bass shouted.

“ _They_ treat _me_ like shit. You’re supposed to be my real family; you’re not supposed to pull the same bullshit they do!”

They’d gravitated closer to one another while they were shouting. Miles’s face was so close to Bass’s, his eyes so dark, his chest rising and falling so rapidly with the force of his emotions, that Bass lost it. He grabbed Miles’s face and kissed him roughly. It only took Miles a second before he was kissing Bass back, shoving his tongue into Bass’s mouth. Their teeth clacked together and it almost felt more like they were still fighting than kissing.

Miles grabbed a handful of Bass’s shirt and hauled him out of his chair, basically tackling him to the ground, and covered him with his own body. Bass immediately started arching up into Miles. Bass had only realized he’d wanted this a few days before, but his body was screaming _finally_ like he’d been waiting forever. They were grinding together and Bass wasn’t going to last long, probably going to lose it in his jeans like a goddamn teenager. Miles reached down and tugged at the button on Bass’s jeans.

Bass moaned out Miles’s name just as Miles started sucking at his neck, and the combination of Bass’s voice, his stubble against Miles’s face, and Miles’s hand halfway down Bass’s pants brought Miles back to himself and he stopped. He was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed and his pants painfully tight. He swore and shoved himself away from Bass.

He got up and stomped down the stairs, the slamming door telling Bass he’d left, leaving Bass still panting and achingly hard, his pants undone. Bass had wanted to make Miles mad, to hurt him because Bass was embarrassed and confused about what had happened at the bar, and he had, but then…well, everything was a hundred times more complicated now thanks to his stupid brain and his stupid heart and, probably most of all, his stupid dick.

When he got back from picking up Cynthia, Miles was back and sitting on the couch. He had his pack beside him and Bass’s mouth went dry.

"Are you going on a trip?" Cynthia asked. 

“Yeah, just for a few days.” Miles said. He looked at Bass and quickly looked away. “I’m going to go to Chicago to visit my brother. Remember Ben?”

“Chicago.” Bass said flatly.

“He’s got my car there.” Miles explained without looking at Bass. “I’m flying in and then I’ll drive it back.”

Bass didn’t say anything. It was the kind of trip they would’ve taken together if things had been different. He nodded. So this was how it was going to be. Miles was just going to run away. He shouldn’t have been so surprised.

“Can I go too?” Cynthia asked. Bass wanted to laugh bitterly. She could ask and he couldn’t.

“You’ve got school, Cinnamon Bear.” Miles reminded her. She made a face. “I’ll be back by Sunday.” He promised.

“So you need a ride to the airport or something?” Bass asked aggressively. If Miles was going to leave, there was no reason to drag it out. Miles still didn’t meet his eyes.

“Called a cab.” He said.

“Were you going to tell anyone you were going or just sneak out without saying anything?” Bass was speaking through clenched teeth and Miles wouldn’t look up.

“Bass, why are you mad?” Cynthia asked. Bass balled his hands into fists and held his breath for a second.

“I’m not mad. I’m fine. Want a snack?” He stomped into the kitchen. Miles followed him but stopped a few feet away.

“You’re the one who wanted me to talk to my family.” Miles reminded him accusingly.

“Yeah, you really want to talk about _that_ conversation?” Bass asked, tight-lipped. Miles went red and Bass snorted. “Didn’t think so.”

Miles just stood there for a minute, not saying anything, and Bass couldn’t look at him. He was rummaging around in the cupboards but he couldn’t remember why.

“I’m going to wait on the porch.” Miles said. Bass didn’t respond. “I…I’ll see you Sunday.”

Bass waited until he heard Miles say goodbye to Cynthia before he pulled his face out of the cupboard and slammed it closed. He rested his head against the cupboard, breathing a little too fast. He sure had a talent for fucking things up.

Miles was already gone when Angela got home, and she looked at Bass curiously. He avoided making eye contact with her, afraid of what he’d confess if she caught his eye.

“Miles went to visit Ben?” She asked skeptically. She didn’t know everything about Miles’s strange family situation, but she knew it wasn’t great and Miles rarely visited Ben.

“He’s gonna bring his car home.” Cynthia told her.

“Yep, his car’s at Ben’s.” Bass said, shoveling peas into his mouth. He didn’t even like peas. Did anyone like peas? He was never buying peas again.

“Oh, that makes sense.” Angela was satisfied with the explanation, though she kept shooting inquiring glances at Bass, which he studiously ignored. He did the dishes alone after dinner and tried to study from the SAT prep book for about ten minutes before he gave it up as a lost cause. He paced around his room a few times. He took a cold shower, hating himself for remembering the feel of Miles’s chapped lips against his and strong hands in his hair.

It was going to be a long week.

After he dropped the girls off at school the next morning, Bass decided to go for a run. It felt a little strange, running recreationally, because he wasn’t used to running without a purpose. As a Marine, he went for training runs so that when he was in the desert and he needed to run, he could. Now he was just running to burn off some energy and stop himself from thinking.

It wasn’t long before he stripped off his shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his shorts. He always sweated easily, and it was April and starting to get humid. He headed for home and passed a pretty brunette who was also running. He nodded at her and kept going.

The next day, he ran the same route, not even bothering with a shirt this time, and the girl was there again. This time, she fell into step with him. He slowed down a little to accommodate her shorter legs, surprised that she’d apparently been waiting for him.

“I’m Duncan.” She told him, breathing easily. Bass couldn’t tell if that was her first name or last.

“Hi.” He said, and then somewhat reluctantly added, “Sebastian.”

“Do you live around here?” She asked. “It’s just that I run this route every day and I’ve never seen you before.”

“Uh, I grew up out here. I just got back.”

“School?” She asked, starting to get a little winded. Bass pulled up and started stretching. If they were going to have a whole damn conversation he didn’t want to be running.

“Iraq.” He answered shortly. He felt bad that he was being a little rude, so he added, “Have you lived here long?”

“I’m just here for the semester doing some research for my thesis.” A grad school girl. Bass was a little intrigued despite himself.

“What’s your thesis on?” He asked curiously.

“How emotion affects physical performance.” She told him with a smile. “I noticed yesterday you kind of looked like you were running from something in your head.”

Bass looked away. He wasn’t having this conversation with anyone, least of all a stranger.

“Look, I’m not trying to pry.” She said, even though Bass knew that was exactly what she was trying to do. “But maybe you could give me a call sometime.” Bass was opening his mouth to make an excuse when she turned and started jogging away.

“Or you could follow me to my place right now.”

Bass hesitated. Miles’s face flashed through his head and he got pissed. He caught up to her easily. Miles could go to hell. She let him into her apartment and he was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She didn’t give him long to stew on that before she was on him, touching his sweaty, bare skin and pressing her small body against his. It had been a long time since he’d been with anyone, besides the aborted make-out with Miles. He kept his eyes focused on her face the whole time, kept himself lost in the feeling of her soft body, and didn’t let himself drift off to think about Miles.

She wrote her number on his palm after they’d finished and told him to give her a call. He left promising he would and ran home knowing he wouldn’t. He got in the shower and scrubbed his whole body.

Miles called that night to talk to Cynthia before she went to bed. Bass could hear Cynthia giggling and Angela crowding in to say hi to Miles and to Ben. Angela called out to Bass, asked if he was going to come talk to Miles, and he made an excuse and said he’d call Miles later. He couldn’t deal with this.

“Bass?” Angela approached him after he’d put Cynthia to bed. She still wouldn’t go to sleep without her goodnight song. Bass kept forgetting to find a child therapist.

“What’s up, Angie?” He asked, trying not to sound as exhausted as he felt.

“Can I go out tomorrow night?”

“On a school night?” He said distractedly.

“Tomorrow’s Friday.” She told him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sick or something? You’ve been acting so weird lately.”

“Uh, no, I’m fine. Go out with who?”

“Brad.” She blushed. “He asked me out on a real date.” She was smiling shyly and Bass could already tell there was no way he’d say no. She deserved a fun Friday night.

“Just the two of you?” He asked, trying to think of questions a responsible adult would ask a teenager. He’d never been a responsible adult before all this, so he was kind of making it up as he went along.

“No. Brad’s big brother and his girlfriend are going to be there, too. Please, Bass?” She gave him a puppy-dog look and he nodded. She graced him with a huge smile.

“But you gotta be home by…” He racked his brains, trying to think of his curfew when he was her age. “Eleven-thirty.” He decided, unable to come up with a time. He couldn’t remember having a curfew because if he hadn’t come home his parents had just assumed he was with Miles. She gave him a look.

“My curfew’s midnight on weeknights.” She informed him. Bass sighed.

“Well, what are you doing? What time are you going?” He remembered those questions. His parents had never asked who he’d be with, because that answer was obvious.

“We’re going to a movie at eight and then we’re getting ice cream. Bass, come on!” She had been so excited and now she just looked let down and annoyed. Bass couldn’t stand it. He sighed again.

“Okay. Midnight.” He relented. “But you better not get into any trouble in that extra half-hour.” He tried for a smile and got halfway there. She laughed.

“I promise. Or I just won’t get caught.” She gave him an exaggerated wink and he had to laugh.

He went downstairs and flung himself onto his bed. The stupid Big Dipper was there, a reminder of Miles and being happy, and Bass covered his eyes to block it out. Three more days and then…well, he had no idea what would happen when Miles got back.


	6. Chapter 6

Brad seemed like a nice enough guy; he didn’t just honk from the curb like Bass had half-expected he would. If he had, Bass would have said no way to Angela going out with him. He came inside and looked appropriately nervous when Angela introduced him to Bass. Bass had worn his tightest US Marines shirt for maximum intimidation. After Angela left, Bass and Cynthia played board games for a mind-numbingly long time, stretched out on the floor in the living room.

“Bassy?” Cynthia asked. “Are you sad?”

“What?”

“You keep frowning.” She imitated his downcast expression and he smiled at her.

“I’m tired.” He said. “You keep kicking my butt in Life and it’s wearing me out.”

She ran a hand across the carpet. “I still get sad, too. I miss Mom and Dad.” She said in a small voice, looking down. Bass wanted to cry. His sister was eleven years old. She should be playing outside, carefree, getting ready to move up to middle school soon. Instead she had an appointment to meet with a child psychiatrist on Monday and couldn’t sleep a whole night without nightmares about her family dying.

She took his hand in her little hand and smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re here, though.” Her eyes were blue, like his, inherited from their beautiful mother. Bass could feel tears in his own eyes.

“I miss Mom and Dad, too.” He admitted. “But I’m really glad I get to be here with you.”

“I don’t want to play anymore.” She said, starting to gather up the game pieces.

“Want to go get some ice cream?” He was glad to see her face light up. He knew ice cream wouldn’t make up for dead parents, but at least it would make her smile.

She fell asleep snuggled against him on the couch while they watched some stupid movie with talking golden retriever puppies. He carried her up to bed and watched her for a minute, his throat tight with emotion. She was wearing a giant shirt of their father’s that proclaimed “Doctors do it sterile.” It wasn’t even a funny innuendo, but it was so absolutely William’s type of humor. Bass wished again he could’ve traded places with his parents. It would be far easier for her to deal with the death of her much-older (though beloved, if he did say so himself) big brother than her mom and dad. They were better people than he was, anyway. They deserved to see their daughters grow up.

He kept glancing at his phone while he cleaned up their mess. Miles had texted him—a shock in itself—when he’d gotten to Ben’s, but otherwise they hadn’t spoken. Even apart from all the new whirlwind emotions and confusion and the feeling of Miles’s hands on his body, Bass missed Miles. He missed teasing Miles and making Miles laugh. He missed Miles knowing when he was upset. He missed Miles telling him the world would not be better off without him. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the stash he and Miles had started. His melancholic mood called for it.

Angela came home right on time, all shy smiles as Brad walked her to the door. Bass was not quite drunk but a little more than tipsy, and he tried his hardest to hide it from Angela.

“Are you drunk?” She asked, staring at him. He’d shoved the (almost empty) bottle of whiskey behind a couch cushion.

“No.” He said, trying to hold his breath. Did she know what whiskey smelled like? He had, at her age, but she didn’t have Miles for a best friend. Well, now apparently he didn’t, either, a thought that made his face twist into a frown.

Angela put her hands on her hips. “How long have you been drinking?” She asked. She looked so much like their mom Bass felt a tear sneak out of his eye. He’d been chewed out by his mom more than once for this same situation, though she’d had cause to be mad because he’d been underage then.

“Angela, I’m a grown man. It’s perfectly okay for me to drink.” He laughed. “I’m so good at drinking.” He told her. “It’s ‘cause I’m a Marine. We drink a lot. Oh, I guess I’m not a Marine. Except you’re always a Marine. Semper Fi, you know. So…yeah, I am a Marine. And did you know I’m an orphan?” Okay, he was drunker than he’d thought. Angela’s happy smile had given way to a sad, worried look.

“Bass, maybe you should go to bed.” She suggested.

“I’m sorry, Angie.” He whispered, putting his head in his hands. “Sorry I’m fucked up. I ruined your happy night.”

She put his arm around her and tried to help him to his feet. “You didn’t ruin it.” She huffed. “Man, you’re heavy.”

“You don’t have to help me.” He said. “Angela. Angel. Angel-uh.” He laughed and she rolled her eyes.

“Wow, yeah, you’re so good at being drunk.” She muttered sarcastically.

“Ah, I’m no good without Miles.”

“Well, Miles will be home in two more days.” She’d given up on him but had found his bottle of whiskey and returned it to the cabinet.

“I ruined everything.” He said, his face in his hands.

“Bass, it’s okay. I had a good night. You didn’t ruin it.”

He waved a hand around. He hadn’t meant her night; he’d meant Miles. But he was sober enough not to elaborate. And then he felt a new wave of guilt at the fact that he was more concerned with his love life—a laughable term if he’d ever heard one—than his little sister. He was telling her to go to bed when they heard a bump from somewhere on the floor below. Angela looked at him, eyes wide.

“What was that?”

“Uh….”

“Bass?” Cynthia had come running out of her room. “I heard a noise.”

“We did, too.” Angela told her. Cynthia looked terrified.

“It was in the garage.” Cynthia reported. Her room was right above the garage, so it must’ve been a lot louder in her room.

“It’s probably just a raccoon.” Bass said, but the bumping sound was continuing. Both girls rushed to his side, scared. Cynthia wrinkled her nose.

“You smell weird.” She said to Bass.

“Do you think there’s someone in the garage? Like a burglar?” Angela asked.

“Is it a ghost?” Cynthia asked.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Bass reassured them, wondering if it was normal for an eleven-year-old to immediately think a ghost was haunting the garage. “I’ll go look, okay?” They both followed him down the stairs to the garage door. He hesitated. He didn’t _think_ it was a person, but did he really want to risk it unarmed?

“Don’t move.” He commanded them. He grabbed the handgun he kept in his sock drawer, clicking the magazine into place and stuffing the gun into his waistband. The girls didn’t need to know he had it; they’d just be convinced it meant he needed it and be more scared.

“Okay.” He said, emerging from his room. “I will go make sure there are no ghosts or burglars in the garage. Stay here and stay away from the door.” He was barking orders now, immediately switching into Marine-mode, his body tensed but his breathing steady. He wasn’t worried. He’d faced bombs and armies; a guy trying to steal their TV didn’t bother him.

The girls ignored his orders, of course, because little sisters did not follow orders well, and crowded into the doorway as soon as he opened the door, clinging to one another nervously. Bass flipped on the garage light, his hand hovering at his back in case he needed to shoot something, keeping his body between the garage and the doorway to block the girls. He was going to be pissed if he got shot because they didn’t listen to him.

“ _Miles_?”

“I was…I couldn’t see.” Miles said stupidly. His eyes were red-rimmed and he wasn’t standing up very straight. He’d been drinking. A lot.

“What are you doing in the garage?” Bass asked.

“I was coming in.”

“Why didn’t you come in the front door?” Cynthia asked, giggling. “Your hair is all messed up.” Miles ran a hand through the offending locks, trying to walk straight.

“I thought you guys would be asleep.”

“Yeah, well, we were getting that way until we thought someone was trying to break in through the garage.” Bass pointed out, annoyance laced through every word. Miles winced a little. “Alright, come on, Cyn, back to bed.” Bass waved his arms at his sisters like they were seagulls he was shooing away.

“Goodnight song.” Cynthia demanded. “You didn’t sing it.”

“You fell asleep during the movie.” Bass defended himself.

“Well now you can both do it.” She beamed and it would have been impossible for either man to deny her. She took Bass’s hand in one of hers and Miles’s in the other.

“Can either of you walk without leaning on her?” Angela muttered. Bass shot her a look that said _shut it_. The stairs were a little difficult, particularly for Miles, but they made it and got Cynthia situated in bed and ready to go to sleep. As Bass switched off the light, she murmured sleepily, “Now Bassy will smile again.”

Miles and Bass walked down the stairs without looking at each other or speaking. Bass went into his room and was going to close the door when Miles stopped him, his long body filling up the doorway in a way Bass didn’t want to notice. Bass turned his back on Miles without saying a word, crossing the room to his bed.

“Bass.” Miles’s voice was raw and Bass could already tell his own emotions were not going to stay in check very well.

“You better not have driven like that.” Bass said, voice shaking.

“I…” Miles trailed off before he’d actually said anything and Bass shook his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Miles? You can’t even walk straight. How _dare_ you drive like that, after everything? You know what happens when people drive drunk.” Bass was breathing hard. His images of his parents splattered across the pavement popped into his head, now joined by a broken Miles.

“I know.” Miles said. “I’m an idiot. I’m an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Bass asked harshly. “I thought you weren’t coming back until Sunday.” Bass had kind of expected Miles to just not come back at all.

“I just—I couldn’t be there anymore.” Miles looked down at his feet.

Bass didn’t say anything. If Miles meant what he thought he meant, Bass wanted to hear it. Otherwise he just wanted to go to sleep.

“I slept with Rachel.”

He may as well have dropped a bomb. Bass felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. Even though he knew it was hypocritical, it didn’t matter to him that he’d slept with someone, too; it felt like Miles had betrayed him in the worst way.

“You slept with your brother’s fiancé? Wow, Miles. You are on a roll, huh?” Bass was hissing between his teeth, not wanting Angela to hear if she was still awake.

“I was drunk.” Miles admitted.

“Shit, Miles, did you just go to Chicago and immediately start drinking yourself to death?” Bass shook his head. It wasn’t surprising. Miles drank more than a regular person when life was going normally; in the midst of whatever was going on between them, he’d probably been drinking non-stop.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.” Miles said. “It just—”

“Oh, it just happened, right, because it’s so hard to stop yourself from having sex with someone? Didn’t seem that hard the other day.” Bass hadn’t meant to add that last part, but the whiskey had loosened his tongue and he never watched himself carefully enough around Miles. Miles looked at him, surprised, before looking away. Bass waited to see if he’d say anything. He didn’t.

“Goodnight, Miles.” Bass said forcefully and dismissively. Miles opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead he turned and left, closing the door behind him. Bass sat on the edge of his bed and held his head in his hands, tugging at his hair and refusing to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

Bass slept in the next day, deciding if the girls woke up before him they could fend for themselves. They both knew how to pour a bowl of cereal and didn’t need him to hold their hands while they did it. But it wasn’t a very restful sleep, and he could hear Miles moving around in the room next to him. It didn’t take long before Miles knocked and came in.  
  
Bass was stretched out in his bed, reading, one arm behind his head and the sheets falling down to his waist, showing off his chest and abs. He looked like a damn magazine ad and it annoyed Miles for some reason. Miles stood in the middle of the room, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot, not saying anything.

“Good morning.” Bass drawled sarcastically. “Scrambled eggs?”

Miles grimaced. Bass knew Miles didn’t like scrambled eggs on a good day, but mentioning scrambled eggs when Miles was hung-over was calculated torture.

“So.” Bass was determined to convince Miles their little talk the night before had not affected him in the slightest. “SATs next week, huh?”

“Ugh.”

“You’re gonna need a better attitude than that if you want to get into college.” Bass said brightly. Miles shook his head. He had that look on his face that meant he had a lot on his mind.

“What the hell?” He growled. For some reason it was annoying him that Bass wasn’t sitting up, just lying there like he didn’t have a care in the world. Bass knew his “what the hell” wasn’t about college or the SATs, and he geared up for a fight. He had plenty of annoyance to shoot right back at Miles.

“Shit, Miles, quit starting discussions that way. You have something to say to me, say it. Don’t try to piss me off so I’ll yell at you.”

Miles pursed his lips for a minute, thinking. “Okay.” He finally said. He took a deep breath. He licked his lips and Bass tried not to stare. “I’m sorry.”

“That was a lot of buildup for that.” Bass said.

Miles threw his hands up. “What do you want from me, Bass?”

Bass didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to give in. He knew what Miles wanted—Miles wanted Bass to take over, to say what Miles was feeling so Miles could just agree but not have to voice it himself. It was what Bass always did when they got in a spat. But this was a little more than a spat. It would be a little pathetic to say “you want me” and have Miles agree. Bass wanted to hear it. He knew it was how Miles felt, because Miles wouldn’t have come back otherwise, and he certainly wouldn’t have come to Bass’s room first thing in the morning, when he knew perfectly well Bass would be naked. Bass finally set his book on the bedside table and gave Miles a look. Miles sighed.

“I’m sorry.” Miles repeated, sounding tired. “I’m sorry I left. And I’m sorry I slept with Rachel.”

“Why are you apologizing to me for sleeping with Rachel?” Bass wouldn’t say it for him, but he could give Miles a push in the right direction. If he didn’t, this could take years and he’d die before he ever got Miles naked. Miles squirmed a little.

“Um…because.” He squinched up his face and cleared his throat. _Screw it._ He crossed the room and leaned over Bass, yanking him up by the shoulders to kiss him. Bass immediately wrapped his arms around Miles’s back, pulling him forward. Miles climbed on top of him on the bed.

“Finally,” Bass muttered as he tugged at Miles’s shirt to take it off.

“Sorry it took so long.” Miles responded, obediently raising his arms to get the offending fabric off. He ran his hands over Bass’s hard chest, down his rippling abs, marveling at how good it felt. He’d never even wanted a man before, but he’d never been as turned on by a pair of tits as he was at the feeling of Bass’s pecs.

They made out for a while, roaming hands staying strictly above the belt, both a little afraid to go any further. Sure, it was one thing to feel chest hair under your hands, but a dick? That seemed like a big jump for one day. Bass laughed a little and Miles pulled back, unsure whether he should be offended.

“No, no, no.” Bass wouldn’t let him pull his face too far away. “It’s just…” His eyes scanned all over Miles’s face, still chuckling a little. “Is this weird? I mean, it’s _you_. It’s us.”

“You mean…because we’re guys?” Miles asked, brow furrowed. It seemed like an inopportune time to suddenly be worried about this. He’d certainly freaked out about it, but his time away from Bass had been so miserable he’d gotten over it. Yeah, he was a guy, but…he was Bass.

“Well, yeah, sure, but…I mean, it’s _us_ , Miles. We’ve been friends for so long; do you think that makes this weird?”

Miles thought about it for a minute. “I think that’s what makes it not weird.” He finally said with a shrug. Bass grinned and went back to kissing him, still following their unspoken agreement to stick to making out.

But Bass was impatient, as Bass always was, and he was so hard he thought he might explode. He knew Miles was probably still a little freaked out by the prospect, but his hands started gradually drifting lower and lower. Miles, luckily, was in the same boat, and his hands went from Bass’s hair down to dip beneath the sheet. Bass sighed with relief and set to work on Miles’s pants, wriggling out from under the sheet so there would be nothing between them.

Bass thought he was going to lose it the second Miles touched him, and he bit his lip to try to keep it together. Miles gathered them both in his fist, and Bass moaned out loud. Nothing had ever felt that good, he was positive. He put his hand above Mile’s and they got a rhythm going, gasping and moaning into one another’s mouth.

Bass wasn’t exactly sure of the protocol here, so when he felt himself on the brink he gasped out Miles’s name, meaning it as a warning but sounding more like a rough prayer. It was too much for Miles, hearing his name come off Bass’s tongue like that, and he beat Bass to the punch. The sight of Miles throwing his head back the way he did made Bass follow suit quickly.

Miles collapsed onto Bass, almost completely dead weight, and Bass fell back onto the bed, relishing the feeling even if he felt like he couldn’t completely breathe.

“Okay.” Bass said with a shaky laugh. “So I guess we’re on the same page there.”

“Mmph.” Miles answered, his face pressed against Bass’s chest. Bass laughed again. Then he remembered that he’d never told Miles about his own tryst. Part of him stubbornly thought he shouldn’t have to say anything, since it wasn’t like they’d been anything at that point, but Miles had told him about Rachel and apologized for it.

“Miles?” He looked down at Miles and jostled him a little. Bad idea—they were both still naked and that caused quite a bit of friction.

“Already?” Miles asked. “What are you, a sex addict?” Bass would laugh at that later.

“I slept with someone while you were gone, too.”

Miles pushed himself up on his elbows to look at Bass. “Who?”

“Some random girl. I…I met her while I was out running.” Bass admitted sheepishly.

“Shit, Bass, do women really just throw themselves at you like that?” Miles groused.

“I’m sorry.” Bass said. “I just…I was upset, and she came onto me, and I was mad at you, and I—”

“Bass.” Miles cut him off. “Is it something I should care about? I mean, are you gonna go out and find her again?”

“Hell no.” Bass responded. “Not if I’ve got you.”

“Well, you’ve got me.” Miles said with a shy, goofy little grin. Bass felt his own smile grow and he craned up to kiss Miles again. He didn’t think that would ever get old.

They got washed up, which included a _very_ long shower that they only left when it turned cold and they yelped in surprise. “Alright, we gotta cool it.” Bass said, pulling away from Miles. They’d been prolonging going upstairs, but both their stomachs were rumbling and they could hear the girls up there.

“I know, I know.” Miles said quickly. “I just…” He got Bass entangled in another kiss and Bass couldn’t resist, his hands going up to thread through Miles’s hair. “Okay.” Miles reluctantly pulled away first this time, resting his forehead against Bass’s. “We can’t hide down here all day.”

They tried to sit quietly and keep their hands to themselves for a while to calm down before they went upstairs. “I’m seriously going to have to leave the room.” Bass said after a minute. “I can’t sit by you.”

“I’m not even doing anything!”

“I can hear you breathing.” Bass couldn’t explain why that was sexy, but it somehow was. Miles laughed.

“Well, you keep licking your lips.” He accused. Bass turned to look at him and raised a hand to his mouth in horror. A red spot on Miles’s neck was quickly darkening. Bass couldn’t even remember when he’d done that.

“What?” Miles asked a little self-consciously. Bass touched the spot. “Did you give me a hickey?” Miles demanded, sounding so shocked Bass started laughing. “Bass, this isn’t funny!”

“It’s kind of funny,” Bass pointed out, still laughing. “Shit, what are we going to do? Cyn won’t know what it is but Angela sure will.”

“She’s only fifteen.” Miles said. “Maybe she won’t know. I can say it’s from…the seatbelt last night. ”

“Must’ve been some seatbelt.” Bass said skeptically.

“Shut up, this is your fault!” But Miles was staring at Bass’s lips while he said it and Bass could feel himself starting to gravitate toward Miles again.

“Miles, quit looking at my lips!”

“I think I need another shower. Alone. And cold.” Miles tore his eyes away from Bass.

“Bass?” Angela called down the stairs. “We’re making pancakes.”

Bass groaned quietly. “Okay, we’re coming.” He yelled to Angela. He gave Miles a stern look.

“Time to behave, Matheson.”

Miles stood and adjusted himself and Bass couldn’t help but watch. “You’re a pervert.” Miles informed him.

“Hell yeah, I am.”

Miles was ahead of him on the stairs and Bass had to clench his fists so he didn’t grab Miles’s ass. He needed to get ahold of himself. It was easier to keep it clean once they got upstairs and started talking to Angela and Cynthia, but at one point Miles had to turn his face quickly away because Bass had syrup on the corner of his mouth and Miles was just looking at it there and thinking about licking it away.

“Miles, what’s on your neck?” Angela asked suddenly. Bass closed his eyes. They’d made it almost an hour before she’d noticed.

“What do you mean?” Miles asked, deciding to play innocent.

“You have a big bruise or something.” Cynthia said, leaning across the table to look. She poked a finger at it.

“Hm, must be from the seatbelt rubbing against my neck yesterday.” He said, focusing really hard on cutting up a pancake. Bass had to feign a coughing fit because he was laughing. Angela narrowed her eyes at the spot on Miles’s neck.

“Does your seatbelt have teeth?” She asked. “Because there are teeth marks in there.”

Cynthia looked worried. “Someone bit you?” She asked. “Was it a vampire?” Now Bass really _was_ choking. This was terrible. Angela was cracking up.

“Looks like Miles has a girlfriend after all!” She crowed. A flash of jealous annoyance went through Bass. But he didn’t think it was a good idea to just blurt out the truth just yet. Would Cynthia even understand what that meant?

Miles was looking at him for a cue of what to say and Bass just shrugged a little. “Something like that.” Miles finally said.

“What’s her name?” Cynthia asked. “Do we get to meet her?”

“Uh…”

“Guys, leave Miles alone.” Bass commanded. “You guys are going back to gymnastics today, yeah? What else should we do?”

“Can Brad come over tonight?” Angela asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, I want to meet him.” Miles said, giving her a wicked grin.

“Don’t do anything embarrassing.” She pleaded.

“I can’t make any promises.” Miles said with a shrug.

Bass laughed and Miles caught his eye. The smile on Miles’s face was making Bass’s heart swell. He had to stop himself from leaning over the table and kissing him. Was that normal? They’d only started their relationship, or whatever this was, that morning; it had only been a few hours. Was it normal for him to already feel completely comfortable with it? He’d never wanted to be with a guy before, but it didn’t feel weird and he wasn’t freaking out. But maybe he should’ve expected as much—it was Miles. Nothing ever felt weird with Miles.

When they pulled up to the gym, Cynthia bounded out of the car right away, before they’d come to a complete stop. Bass made a mental note to have a talk about that little habit. It was _dangerous_ , no matter how excited she was. Then Bass shook his head. When had he become a stuffy old man?

Angela was taking her time getting her things together. “You okay, Ang?” Miles asked. Bass looked back. Angela’s lips were pressed in a thin line. Bass felt a little surge of pride that Miles had, first of all, noticed, and then asked. He was really improving on the emotion front.

“I don’t want to go.” She said quietly.

“What’s wrong?” Bass asked. Angela shrugged, her head down, and twisted the strap of her bag.

“Just…Mom always stays for practice and then afterward we talk about my routines and stuff.” She said. Bass sighed.

“I know it’s gonna be hard.” He said. “But do you think Mom would want you to give it up because you miss her?”

Angela was blinking back tears. “I guess not.”

“It’s up to you.” Miles added. He gave Bass a look to ask for permission and Bass nodded encouragingly. As far as he was concerned, Miles never had to ask permission; they were practically his little sisters, too. “If you still want to do gymnastics, you should, and don’t let missing your mom stop you, because she’d be proud of you, but if there’s a different reason…” Miles trailed off, a little embarrassed. He wasn’t as good as Bass at this kind of thing. But Bass was smiling at him in a way that told him he’d done a good job and he was going to be thanked later, when they were alone. Funny how he already had a look for that and Miles could recognize it.

Angela nodded, still not looking up. “It’s just that…everyone’s going to be giving me that look, you know?”

“The pity look.” Miles said knowingly. Bass felt something click in his brain understandingly. He hadn’t endured the look much since the funeral, because he didn’t go out much, but Angela and Cynthia had probably been barraged. It was the pained expression people gave you when they contemplated the fact that you were an orphan, the look that said they were _so sorry for your loss, you poor dear._

“They want to say sorry to make themselves feel good.” Angela said, fiddling with her seat belt. “But they don’t actually want you to talk about how much it still hurts and how much your life sucks.”

Bass felt guilty. He’d thought Angela was doing great, not as bad as Cynthia, but now he was worried she’d just been burying it all. He’d been paying so much attention to Cynthia and to Miles he’d let Angela fall through the cracks.

“And eventually they stop talking to you at all.” Miles said. “They expect you to just get over it, eventually, but you can’t really.” Bass looked at Miles curiously. He didn’t really remember any of that happening after Miles’s mom had died. Bass had _tried_ to get Miles to talk about it, and he never would. Miles still wouldn’t talk about his mother, and he’d certainly never mentioned anything to Bass about it still hurting.

“Exactly.” Angela sounded relieved. “I didn’t know how to say it.”

“Well, that’s a first.” Miles laughed. “I knew how to say something you didn’t.”

Angela smiled and unbuckled her seat belt. “I think I’m ready now.” She said.

“We can talk about your routines afterward.” Bass offered halfheartedly. Angela giggled.

“Bass, you don’t know anything about gymnastics!”

“Well, I’ll learn.” He promised. “I’ll get a book from the library. Me and Miles will watch YouTube videos all night until we know the difference between a Yurchenko and a Jaeger.” They were words he’d heard thrown around at the house a few times or he thought he remembered from letters and emails. Angela laughed out loud.

“One of those is vault and one is bars.” She informed him, getting out of the car. “And I’ll probably never get a Jaeger.”

“The only Jaeger I know is a Jagerbomb.” Miles joked to Bass as they watched Angela walk into the gym. Bass laughed. Miles moved toward opening his door and Bass stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Hey.” He tapped a finger on Miles’s forearm. “You never said anything to me about your mom.”

Miles shrugged. “I never had to. You didn’t leave.”

Bass smiled at him, leaning closer, but stopped himself with a sigh. “I would kiss you right now if I could.”

“Well, hopefully the anticipation will keep you interested.” Miles threw a wink over his shoulder as he got out of the car and Bass laughed. They settled into the bleachers, knees touching comfortably and inconspicuously. Angela was on the balance beam and Cynthia was working on floor. The gym was noisy, with so many different groups practicing, and Bass and Miles were soon pretty bored. There were only so many times Bass could watch Angela flip around on the beam.

“This is giving me an ulcer.” Mass muttered, holding his breath as Cynthia launched herself into the air for the hundredth time, like being upside down wasn’t the least bit worrisome.

“They’re daredevils.” Bass agreed. Miles smirked at him.

“Must run in the family.”

A stern-looking woman was talking to Cynthia, who then pointed up at Bass and Miles. The woman started heading their way and both boys sat up quickly, trying not to look guilty even though they hadn’t done anything wrong. They were so used to getting trouble together that someone looking cross and walking toward them made them react automatically. Bass’s stomach lurched as he realized he knew the woman.

“Miles.” He whispered urgently.

“Did we do something?” Miles whispered back.

“No, Miles, that’s—” He stopped abruptly as she reached them.

“You’re Cynthia and Angela’s brother?” She asked. Her hair was in a no-nonsense pony tail, but there was no mistaking it—it was Duncan. His one-night stand. Or one-mid-morning stand, as the case had been.

“Um, yes.” Bass couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Duncan was glaring at him and he could feel Miles looking back and forth between them. “This, uh, this is Miles.” Bass said desperately. Miles made a little noise protesting Bass bringing him into whatever this was.

“I’ve heard Cynthia talk about him.” Duncan said, her eyes still on Bass.

“Yeah.” Bass replied lamely. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

“I’m a little surprised you’re their brother, because you gave me the impression you didn’t have a phone.” Bass winced but didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth, but he didn’t have anything to say so he closed it dumbly.

“Look, I’m assuming you’re going to be around the gym a lot now? I’m only here for another month or so, and then I’m gone. So let’s just be civil.” Duncan said this like it wasn’t a suggestion and Bass thought of those severe coaches he always saw on TV at the Olympics.

“I’ve been civil.” Bass pointed out, raising an eyebrow. He probably could have smoothed this over with an apology or flowers or something, but something about seeing how tough she was made Bass justify not apologizing.

“Fine.” Duncan said stiffly. “I’ve got to get back to the team.” She turned and walked away and Bass exhaled. He looked at Miles. Miles looked back at Bass with his lips pursed.

“So…that was their coach.” Bass ventured.

“You wanna tell me anything about her?” Miles asked.

“Remember the girl I met when I was out running?”

“ _Seriously?_ ” Miles hissed. “Of all the women, Bass!”

“I didn’t know!” Bass said defensively.

“Well, that was one of the more awkward encounters I’ve experienced between you and a girl.” Miles was being grumpy and it was making Bass annoyed.

“Well, sorry I didn’t want to beg forgiveness from a random chick. I mean, what should I have said? Hey, sorry I never called you, but I actually have a good reason because I started banging this dude next to me instead?”

Miles looked away and Bass knew he had said something wrong. This was the problem with a person who never said how he felt; it was sometimes impossible to know how to make him feel better. Bass made himself think about every word he’d said. People didn’t think Miles was very smart, since he didn’t say much, but Miles could analyze every word.

“Hey. You know it’s not just sex, right?” Bass asked. Miles’s face changed a little and Bass knew he’d gotten it right. “I mean, I guess I sorta lumped you in with her, so it sounded like you’re the same, but you’re a lot more to me than a random hook-up.”

“I know.” Miles said quietly. Bass waited a second and then leaned closer, pretending to tie his shoe so he could lean into Miles, because something was obviously still bugging him a little.

“I’m not going to sleep with her again. You’re much prettier.” He murmured.

Miles didn’t say anything, but he smirked and his body language thawed out considerably. Bass should’ve known Miles was the jealous type. He knew Miles well enough to foresee that. He suddenly found he liked Miles’s jealousy toward him, and with the bleachers blocking their feet, Bass almost imperceptibly shifted his foot so that he could run it up along Miles’s calf. Miles jumped a little and then a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. They forgot all about that woman and everyone else in the room, lost in their smiles for one another.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to put a warning here for a suicide-attempt-ish scenario and gunshots and violence in this chapter. It's nothing worse than canon, I don't think, but just be warned.

Later that night, they were all gathered in the living room to watch a movie. Miles and Bass were sitting on the couch with Cynthia curled up between them. Miles had an arm on the back of the couch, his fingertips just barely brushing Bass’s neck, and every so often Bass would lean his head back innocently and Miles would stroke up and down his neck and into his hair. The movie was pretty stupid, and Bass wasn’t really paying any attention, because he was pretty focused on those fingers.

Angela was sitting on the other couch with Brad, and both Bass and Miles were keeping an eye on them. Bass didn’t know if Angela had noticed the way Miles had snatched the blanket off that couch before Brad got there.

Miles’s brick of a phone buzzed and he did an impressive imitation of an eighty-year-old man as he looked for it and then squinted at the gigantic screen. Miles and technology did not mesh super well.

“It’s my brother.” Miles said, causing Bass to look over. Miles looked worried and Bass knew he was worried Rachel had told Ben what had happened. Miles got up to answer the phone down the hall so he wouldn’t interrupt the movie. Bass waited a minute before getting up.

“Where are you going?” Cynthia asked, annoyed that both her human pillows were abandoning her.

“Bathroom.” Bass lied. He went down the hall to hover at Miles’s elbow.

“Yeah, okay, that’ll probably be fine.” Miles was saying. He saw Bass and made a face. Whatever Ben was saying wasn’t actually that fine, but it obviously wasn’t admit-you-cheated bad, either. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” Bass came to the sudden realization that they were alone and out of sight of the kids in the living room. He wrapped his arms around Miles’s waist, noting with satisfaction that the pitch of Miles’s voice changed immediately.

“Right.” Miles said distractedly, letting his free hand drop to lace through Bass’s fingers. “Yeah, I know. Hey, Bass is here. Want to talk to him?” He held the phone to Bass’s ear so Bass wouldn’t have to let go of him.

“Hello, Benjamin.” Bass said.

“Bass, how are you?” Ben asked. “I mean _really_ how are you?”

“I’m doing alright.” Bass told him, feeling suddenly much younger. Talking to Ben always reminded him of being a little kid.

“Are you sure?” Ben asked, genuine concern in his voice that made Bass smile a little. “I know I’m kind of far away but if you need anything from me…”

“Thanks, Ben. How’re you?” Bass was having some trouble focusing because Miles was being wicked and wiggling his butt around against Bass.

“Pretty great, really. That’s why I was calling Miles, because I’ve been asked to come do a guest lecture at USI in a few weeks, so I wanted to stop by and see you guys.”

“Oh, that’s…great.” Bass suddenly understood why Miles had looked less than thrilled.

“I mean, if that’s okay.” Ben added.

“No, yeah, totally. I mean I haven’t seen you in like…” Bass trailed off and Miles muttered,

“Three years.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” Ben agreed.

“Me and Miles are applying to USI.” The sentence slipped out before Bass could think it through, partially because Miles was distracting him and partially because he didn’t know what else to say. Miles groaned and Bass winced.

“You—and Miles? Going to college?” Ben sounded stunned.

“Well, we’re out of the Corps.” Bass said, turning his head to give Miles a desperate look. “We just figured…”

“That’s great.” Ben forced enthusiasm into his voice and Bass didn’t have time to decode all the reasons Ben wouldn’t be excited for them—or Miles, rather—to go to college. Luckily the awkward small talk didn’t have to go on much longer and they hung up with Ben. Miles tipped his head back to rest on Bass’s shoulder, resting his hands on Bass’s arms.

“Ugh.” He groaned.

“I’m sorry, Miles.” Bass nuzzled his face into Miles’s hair. “I didn’t even think; it just popped out of my mouth.”

“I know. It’s fine. He’ll just expect me to not get in anyway.” Miles said sourly.

“Well, screw him.” Bass growled.

“He’s going to be the worst when he comes.” Miles complained. Bass laughed a little.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” He murmured, pulling Miles’s earlobe between his lips. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Hmm, I’ll be whatever you want me to if you keep doing that.” Miles’s voice was getting husky, which meant he was horny. Bass had known that even before he was the one causing that reaction, but now it sent a little thrill through him.

“Oh, is that so?” Bass let go of Mile’s earlobe and started pressing kisses down the side of his neck. Miles was making the hottest little noises Bass had ever heard, and Bass turned him around and pushed him against the wall, kissing the hollow of his throat. Miles was squirming.

“Shit.” He said. “Bass, knock it off. How’m I supposed to go back out there?”

“Oh, don’t pin this all on me, you horndog.” Bass laughed, but he obediently pulled away. Miles whined a little and put his hands on Bass’s hips.

“Well, make up your mind, you tease.”

“Okay, okay,” Miles murmured against Bass’s lips after one last kiss. Or two. Maybe it was three. They weren’t really taking delineated breaks so it wasn’t clear.  
  
Bass pushed Miles toward the living room and ducked into the bathroom to flush the toilet, quite proud of his ability to remember his lie when there was almost no blood pumping to his brain.

No one even looked up when he came back. Cynthia was starting to fall asleep, like always. She was notorious for falling asleep during movies and then insisting they finish the movie later, even if everyone else had watched the rest without her. The plus side was that she was cuddled up closer to Miles, which meant Bass could cuddle up closer, as well, and not look suspicious. Under the guise of cuddling with Cynthia, Bass and Miles each looped an arm around her back and held hands. It was cheesy, but it felt so nice.

Bass felt his eyelids start to droop despite himself. The movie was boring and he was comfortable, sinking into the couch and feeling Miles’s warm hand entwined with his. Before he knew it, he was blinking awake as Angela walked Brad to the door. Cynthia had slid down into Miles’s lap and Bass had ended up against Miles’s shoulder. His hand felt empty and cold without Miles’s.

“’M tired.” He mumbled.

“I could tell.” Miles chuckled. “I’ll carry her to bed.”

“And then you’ll carry me to bed?” Bass suggested.

“How about you go get ready for me in bed?” Miles said in his ear, his voice low and husky. Bass didn’t feel so tired anymore. He stood up, yawning, and stretched his arms high over his head. His shirt rode up a little and he didn’t miss the way Miles’s eyes went to the strip of skin poking out. Quick as a flash, Miles’s hand was under his shirt, just feeling the skin, and then Miles was standing up with Cynthia in his arms and Angela was back from saying goodnight to Brad and the room felt really crowded.

Bass shucked off his shirt as he walked down the stairs. Maybe he was a bit eager. He kicked his way out of his pants and sprawled onto the bed in just his boxers. It seemed to take Miles an agonizing eternity to get back, but once he walked in and saw Bass spread-eagled and waiting, it did not take him long at all to get to work.

Bass was wandering through the desert. The wind was howling, throwing angry handfuls of sand into his eyes and stealing the breath from his chest. He was alone but for the steady weight of his M-16 at his back. He was crawling, because the wind was too strong for him to walk. He was squinting against the grit and the sun burning his eyes, but everything was so blinding. He couldn’t find Miles.

Some part of him knew this was a nightmare. His stomach tightened as he started crawling up a hill, because he knew what he was going to find when he got to the top. His brain screamed at his arms to stop, but he couldn’t control them. His feet kept digging into the sand to propel him up. He had to find Miles. He got to the top of the hill and pressed himself flat to the sand on his belly.

Miles was standing out in the open, with no gun and no cover, lost in the sandstorm. Bass screamed at him to get down but the sound was lost in the whip of the wind. Bass crawled toward Miles, still shouting. He couldn’t just stand there in the open.

The air started to explode. They couldn’t hear the chopper over the wind. Bass screamed at Miles again and again, and Miles’s eyes widened as he saw the helicopter. Bass was crawling as fast as he could, the sand cutting into his hands and slipping beneath him. He kept his eyes on Miles, ignoring the tears streaming from them because of the sun and the wind and the sand.

Miles jerked. Blood spurted from his stomach. Bass screamed again and again, but Miles couldn’t hear him, couldn’t see him, fell out of his sight. Bass was still crawling, but the sand kept shifting, his body falling into its soft piles, not finding any traction. He kept moving and finally got to Miles, pressing a hand to his wound, feeling the blood so warm steam was rising from it. The blood made everything slippery and stained his hands, caked under his fingernails. Miles wasn’t moving. As he got Miles’s arm around him so he could pull him out, Bass heard a _thud_.

His mother had just fallen from the sky, eyes blank in death, her bones twisted at odd angles and her face covered in cuts and bruises. She was covered in blood, too, just like Miles.

Another _thud_ , and there was his father, shards of glass sticking in his skin and half his face ripped away. The eye that was left was as blank and empty and unseeing as his wife’s.

 _Thud._ Angela. She looked pale and peaceful, but an angry line across her throat showed where a knife had dragged and cut her life away.

 _Thud_. Cynthia, her perfect head blemished by the hole of a gunshot wound, right in the spot Bass pressed his lips to when he kissed her goodnight.

He screamed, no idea what to do. He couldn’t leave them all there, to be buried by the endlessly shifting sands in the furious wind, to be scavenged by desert animals, to be desecrated and forgotten, but he couldn’t carry them all out, either. He would sink helpless into the sand with the weight of even one of them, let alone all five.

Bass felt a sudden calm overtake him. He knew what to do. What did it matter anymore, if everyone in the world he loved was dead? He pulled his gun from his back. It would be difficult to do, since it was such a long gun, but he knew he could do it. The barrel of the gun fit almost comfortingly under his chin and his hands found the trigger blindly.

Bass woke with a jerk. He felt an arm around him and lay completely still, severely confused for a second, before he looked at the ceiling and saw the glowing Big Dipper. The arm around him was hairy and attached to a heavy, snoring body that was partially crushing him and completely hogging his pillow. He was home. It was Miles, whole and alive and not bleeding.

He released a long breath. He’d had regular nightmares since his first tour in Iraq, about once a week, but since the accident it had been at least once per night. This was one of the worst he’d ever had. He always had the one in the desert with Miles, because it wasn’t purely a nightmare; parts of it, scrambling to get to Miles, screaming but his words being lost in the wind, watching blood stream from a shot in Miles and then feeling the hot blood on his hands, were memory. He had almost seen Miles’s soul drift away that day, and there would never be words to describe his feelings, the anxiety, the way he had screamed endlessly as he dragged Miles’s limp body through sand.

He’d had nightmares of his parents since the accident, had seen his father fly through the windshield and had watched the car roll into the lamp post that ended his mother’s life. That was all constructed in his mind, since he hadn’t actually seen it happen, but he’d read every excruciating detail of the accident report and had imagined the scene.

But his sisters were new, and the way both dreams had melded together was new, and most of all, sticking his gun under his chin and getting ready to pull the trigger was new. He felt shaky and nauseated. He huddled closer to Miles and buried his face in Miles’s shoulder for a minute, tears mingling with sweat as he trembled, and then slipped out from under Miles’s arm and crept out of the room. He went upstairs and peeked into both his sisters’ rooms. He knew, logically, in his head, that they were fine, throats un-slit and heads un-shot, but he just had to reassure himself. They were fine, sleeping peacefully. He got a drink of water and went back downstairs. It took him a long time to fall back to sleep, even with Miles’s steady breathing next to him acting as a lullaby.

When they walked into the testing room, Miles shot Bass a pained look. They were by far the oldest people there. Bass at least had a bit of a baby face, so he only looked a little bit older than everyone else, but Miles stuck out like a sore thumb. He hadn’t even shaved, so there was no mistaking that he was a full-grown man. Most of the girls in the room immediately started lusting after him. Bass could almost feel it in the air.

The test was fairly awful. They’d been studying for weeks and it didn’t feel like any of it had stuck in Bass’s brain. He just kept thinking, _This is pointless. You don’t use this shit in real life._ They got a break and he and Miles went to the hallway and leaned against a wall. Bass saw several girls eyeing Miles. He was a sight, that much was true—long and lean, slouching slightly, his tight jeans showing him off and his scowl proving he was a bad boy. He was a teenage girl’s fantasy and a parent’s nightmare. Some things never changed.

Before they could do much more than go to the bathroom and get a drink, the testing person called them all back into the room. Bass sweated his way through the writing section, again marveling at how stupid and pointless it all was. He was a pretty good writer, but he glanced over at Miles, who was staring moodily at his paper and pushing the point of his pencil so hard into the paper it was going to snap at any second.

Miles was quiet on the drive home and Bass didn’t press him to talk, just rubbed his thumb along the back of Miles’s hand. When they pulled into the driveway, Miles sighed.

“I don’t think I’ll get into college based on that.” He said softly, not meeting Bass’s eyes.

“You think you did that bad?”

“Yeah.” Miles tipped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “I’ll just get a job doing…I don’t know what. Security or something. Stuff like that, it’s what I’m good at.”

Bass didn’t say anything for a minute, considering. “Well.” He said slowly. “If you want to do security or whatever, there’s nothing wrong with that. You are good at that. You have a really…tactical mind.” Miles smiled a little at the compliment, but Bass wasn’t saying it just to say it. “But I don’t want you to count out college yet.” Bass went on. “I think you did better than you think. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I don’t really know how to do not take orders.” Miles admitted. Bass grinned a little.

“Oh, I can give you orders.” He joked. He ran a hand through Miles’s hair. “We’ll still send in our applications, okay? Let’s not think about backup plans until we need to.”

“Speaking with my really tactical mind, that is a terrible idea.” Miles pointed out. “But okay.”

“I can’t wait to be in college together.” Bass said as they got out of the car. “Watching you study is gonna be hot. You should get some reading glasses. Oh, shit, Miles, get some reading glasses. I’m being dead serious right now.”

“I don’t want to wear glasses!” Miles groused.

“ _Miles_ , you will look so hot. Do it. Plus we both know you should’ve gotten reading glasses a long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, what happens if I get glasses and get a clear look at your face and run for it?” Miles teased. Bass laughed.

“I’m way too hot. More like you’ll get a clear look at my face and we’ll never leave our room again.”

“Hey, there’s an idea.” Miles said, following Bass into the house with his hands on Bass’s hips. “Come on, let’s give that a try. I vote for that one.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had sort of let this story die down, I guess...yeah, I was pretty much abandoning it. But I got a few comments lately asking for more, and I already had some more written, so here it is. A visit from Ben and Rachel, lots of family drama, and a twist on the scene with Miles finding Bass at the cemetery.

Miles kept glancing out the window and his anxiety was making Bass anxious, too. They were waiting for Ben to show up and Miles was a basket case. Bass wanted to wrap him up in his arms, but he didn’t think it would be very appropriate with the girls and Brad there. Brad was becoming a bit of a fixture. Miles had declared he didn’t like him (only to Bass), but Bass thought it was more of a reflex than an actual feeling. Brad hardly spoke. There wasn’t much personality there to have an opinion on.

A car pulled into the driveway and Miles looked like he was going to vomit. Bass shot him a look. “Miles, it’s Ben.” Bass said soothingly. “Calm down.”

“Rachel’s with him.” Miles’s voice was strangled. Bass felt his eyes go wide.

“Who’s Rachel?” Angela asked.

“Ben’s fiancé.” Bass told her, eyes on Miles.

“Ben’s getting married?” Cynthia cheered. “Do we get to go to the wedding? Can I be a flower girl?”

“Doubt it.” Miles muttered. Cynthia ignored him and ran to the door to fling it open.

“Hi Ben!” She said brightly. “Do you remember me?”

“Well, hello!” Ben stooped down. “You can’t be Cynthia! You’re too grown up.”

Cynthia looked back at Bass with a wrinkled nose and Bass couldn’t help but laugh. He shook his head at Ben.

“Yeah, she’s too grown up for that.”

Ben shrugged. “Sorry, kid.” He told Cynthia. “I don’t really know what’s age appropriate.” He smiled at Bass and gave him a hug.

“Hi.” Cynthia said to Rachel while Bass and Ben joked around about how old and fat the other was getting. “I’m Cynthia.”

“Hello.” Rachel held out a hand. “My name’s Rachel.”

“Bass said you’re marrying Ben.”

“I am, in a while.” Rachel’s smile seemed a little frozen.

“Do you get to wear a princess dress?”

They were moving into the house and Miles couldn’t hide much longer. He was hovering between the kitchen and the living room, pacing. Angela and Brad were giggling to each other at his expense and he didn’t even care.

“Hey, Miles.” Ben smiled when he caught sight of his little brother. Miles tried to smile, and maybe it could pass as a smile to most people, but Bass cringed a little at the sight of the look on Miles’s face. It was a pained, guilt-ridden twist of his lips. Ben didn’t even notice, because Ben hardly knew Miles these days.

“Miles.” Rachel said. Miles was breathing hard.

“Rachel.” He tried to make his voice normal. Bass frowned at him a little. Miles never could play it cool.

“Angela?” Ben asked. “Wow, you look so much like your mom.”

Angela looked a little surprised, but she smiled. “Thank you.” She said shyly, looking down. That scored some points for Ben in Bass’s book. “Um, this is Brad.”

“Bass lets you have a boyfriend?” Ben asked with a raised eyebrow. “I seem to remember him freaking out about a poster of that guy from Harry Potter.”

“Oh, uh…” Angela was blushing and she and Brad weren’t look at one another. Ben winced. Obviously they hadn’t discussed that.

“I am striking out with the girls today.” He said woefully.

“What else is new?” Bass joked. Ben rolled his eyes.

“And who’s engaged…?”

Cynthia laughed. “Bass doesn’t even have a girlfriend!” She told Ben. “But Miles does.”

Bass stopped breathing. Miles looked at him desperately. Rachel’s eyes were huge in her head. And poor Ben was clueless, giving his brother an intrigued look.

“A girlfriend? You didn’t mention anything when you came to see me.”

“No, I don’t…I don’t have a girlfriend.” Miles muttered.

“Angela said you did.” Cynthia looked confused. Angela looked at Bass. She could see the horror on his face and didn’t know what to do because she didn’t know what was going on.

“Um…I could’ve been wrong.”

“You said someone bit his neck.” Cynthia said. Rachel closed her eyes. Ben was laughing.

“Cynthia.” Bass said sharply. She looked wounded.

“Cyn, let’s go, uh, let’s go jump on the trampoline.” Angela suggested hastily. “We can see if you can get a double back.”

“Okay!” Cynthia jumped up. Angela grabbed Brad’s hand and pulled him after her, shooting an apologetic look at Bass. He smiled at her so she’d know it was okay.

“So you’ve got a girl or you don’t?” Ben asked curiously. “Obviously Cynthia saw…what, a hickey?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t…” Miles rubbed the back of his neck, breathing hard and looking away.

“Was it a one-night stand?” Ben sounded a little judgmental now. “Miles, you should really stop doing that. Start settling down—”

“It wasn’t a one-night stand!” It slipped defensively out of Miles’s mouth before he could think. Ben cocked an eyebrow.

“Look, why don’t we get some drinks?” Bass interrupted desperately. He went to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, shaking it enticingly. Everyone ignored him.

“Come on, Miles, why won’t you tell me?” Ben asked, an almost aggressive undertone slipping into his voice. Suddenly Bass and Miles were twelve and Ben was fifteen and they were seeing who could hit a baseball the furthest.

“Ben.” Rachel murmured. Ben laughed mirthlessly.

“I just want to know why Miles never tells me the truth about anything. I mean, college? You didn’t want to tell me you were going to college and now you can’t even tell me if you have a girlfriend?”

“Ben, it was—” Rachel started.

“Me.” Bass cut in. Everyone turned to gape at him.

“Bass.” Miles said. “You don’t have to—”

“Hold on.” Ben started slowly, looking back and forth between Bass and Miles. “Are you saying…?” He trailed off.

“No.” Rachel said quietly. Miles stared her down for a minute.

“Yes.” He looked Ben in the eyes. “Me and Bass.”

Rachel was looking at Miles with confused eyes that he avoided meeting. She looked at Bass and he nodded, just once, hoping that she’d stay quiet. Ben and Miles already had a rocky relationship; a drunken mistake when Miles was vulnerable over Bass didn’t need to add to that. Bass stretched out a hand and put it on Miles’s shoulder. Rachel’s eyes widened as she noticed the tiny, almost imperceptible way Miles leaned into Bass’s touch.

“Wow.” Ben said. “I don’t even know what to say.” He stared at Bass’s hand on Miles’s shoulder. “How long?”

Bass and Miles looked at each other. Miles shrugged. “Uh…we don’t really know? I mean, it’s hard to pinpoint when it…happened.”

“Depends on what _it_ is.” Bass murmured under his breath. He had a pretty good idea of when to pinpoint when they’d had sex the first time. Miles gave him a look.

“Are you happy?” Ben asked. Bass looked over at Miles, smiling, blinking slowly, and the sun coming in the window behind him made his hair shine golden. Miles smiled back and pulled Bass closer to him, entwining their fingers and leaning into him.

“Yeah.” He said simply. “Really happy.” Bass’s smile grew even wider and he couldn’t help it—he pulled Miles in for a kiss.

“What’s going on?” Angela’s voice behind them made Bass and Miles spring apart. Angela’s eyes were wide as she stared at the space between them where their lips had just met.

“Angie—”

“Did you guys just kiss?”

“Angie, listen—” Bass started to move closer and she backed up.

“Are you…are you gay?” She asked. What a loaded question. Bass didn’t even know the answer himself. Was there a sexuality choice of Miles Matheson?

“Angela, listen to me.”

“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth. “Are you the one who gave Miles that hickey?” She asked disgustedly.

“Ang, please, listen.” Miles started.

“I’m not talking to you!” She cried. “I’m talking to my brother.”

“Don’t talk to Miles like that.” Bass said automatically.

“What, you guys are like…a couple now?” Angela shrieked. “You think you’re going to be my new dads or something?”

“Angela.” Bass’s teeth were clenched.

“Get away from me.” Her voice was shaking and she was starting to cry. “I wish Mom and Dad were here.”

“I know.” Bass tried to say.

“I wish you died instead of them!” She said, turning and running out of the room. She pushed by Brad and Cynthia, who were just coming in.

“Angie?” Cynthia asked worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

Angela ran to her room and slammed the door. Bass felt like she’d punched him. He covered his mouth with a hand.

“Bass.” Miles said worriedly.

“Uh…” Brad was standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Yeah, you should probably go.” Miles snapped sarcastically. Brad looked all too happy to comply and was gone in a flash.

“What’s going on?” Cynthia was looking back and forth between the adults’ faces. “Why was Angie crying? Why is Bass crying?” She looked at Miles solemnly. “Did someone die again?”

Bass breathed out shakily, trying to calm down. “No one died, baby girl.” He promised. “Can you stay here with Miles and Ben and Rachel? Show them, um, show them how good you are at Life.”

“Bass?” Miles put a hand on his shoulder and Bass held in a sob.

“I’m…I’m gonna take a walk.” He muttered.

“Bass, wait, let me go with you.” Miles said.

“No, Miles, just…no.” Bass turned, trying to keep his face steady as he passed Cynthia.

“Bassy?” Cynthia tugged at his hand. “Can I come?”

“Cynthia.” Rachel smiled at Cynthia. “Do you want to see a picture of my wedding dress?” Cynthia looked torn. She wanted to, but she was worried about Bass. She clung to Bass’s side, looking up at him with eyes far too solemn for an eleven-year-old.

“It’s okay.” He told Cynthia, swiping at the tears on his face and forcing himself to smile. “Go with Rachel, okay? I’ll be back in a little while.” She pursed her little lips in an expression that she’d inherited from her father and it made Bass’s heart twist at the reminder of Angela’s words. Cynthia squeezed him in a tight hug and walked over to Rachel.  
  
Bass walked blindly, not even looking where he was going, Angela’s tear-stained face going through his mind. He still had the whiskey bottle in his hand and he laughed hysterically as he cried, taking slugs from the bottle. Everything he’d already thought about himself—she wanted it, too. He berated himself for not being more careful. Her parents were dead and he dropped another huge bomb on her? What kind of brother was he?

He found himself in the cemetery. He made his way to the headstone—a joint headstone for his parents, because after being married for almost thirty years they still held hands at dinner and in the car, because Bass couldn’t bear the thought of them being separated. He sat down on a little hill just above the headstone, doing his best to drain the bottle of whiskey.

“So.” He said conversationally to the empty air. “I ruined everything.” He laughed. “Are you guys out there somewhere? Watching or whatever?” He contemplated for a second. “Um…I hope you’re not watching _everything_. Sorry if you were watching last night when I sucked Miles’s dick.” After a second he added, “And sorry I just said dick, Mom.”  
  
He took another pull from the bottle. “What am I supposed to do?” He whispered. He lay back on the grass and stared at the stars, picking out the Big Dipper. He laughed again. Bass hoped no one had seen him weave his way to the cemetery, drinking and laughing maniacally. They’d probably call the cops and that was _just_ what he needed.

“I don’t know how to raise kids. Why would you…why did you trust me with them? They deserve so much better. Look at me. I’m crazy. I am talking to myself in a cemetery.” He bit back a sob and then thought _screw it_. He let go and his body shook as he cried. “Angela hates me. I’m probably screwing Cynthia up for life. Who am I supposed to ask for advice? I don’t have a dad anymore. Who’s going to take care of _me_ , Mom? Why’d you guys leave us?” He broke off talking and just sobbed into the grass. He was a fucking psycho.

He sat up and hugged his knees once he’d cried himself out. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but the sun was down and his hands were freezing. He wasn’t surprised when Miles pulled up. The car door squeaked as he got out.

“Been looking for you.” Miles said. “What’re you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just, uh, having a little family dinner.” Bass gestured to the headstone. “You know, getting some parenting advice from the folks.”

“Okay. Come on, Bass. Let’s go.”

“She wishes I was dead, Miles.” His voice was so broken its jagged pieces tore at Miles’s heart. He eased himself down to sit beside Bass.

“She didn’t mean it.” Miles said.

“I’m sure she did.” Bass laughed bitterly.

“Okay. Hey, come on, man.” Miles took the mostly empty bottle of whiskey from Bass. “That’s enough.”

“It should’ve been me.”

Miles inhaled sharply. “No.” He shook his head. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Oh, come on, Miles. Everyone would be better off.” Bass wiped his face on his sleeve.

“I wouldn’t.” Miles said simply. Bass looked at him and Miles put a tentative arm around him, encouraged when Bass leaned into him instead of pushing him away. “Should I move out?” Miles asked. “Would it be better?”

“No!” Bass clutched at Miles’s arm. “Don’t pull that noble suffering crap on me, Miles. The only way this is going to work is you and me, together. You know that.”

“Okay.” Miles rested his head against Bass’s. “I just thought it might make things easier for Angela.”

“Yeah, well, you leave me and I’ll chase your ass across the world.”

Miles smirked. “It _would_ be my ass you’d be after.” They fell silent for a minute. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go home.”

“What are we going to do?” Bass asked in a small voice. Miles dropped a kiss into Bass’s hair.

“I have no idea.” He said, making Bass laugh a little. “But we’ll figure it out.”


End file.
